


The Many Quirks of Tony Stark (and the reasons behind them).

by audhds



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Author is so sorry for chapter 3, Cave flashbacks, Child Abuse, Crying, Don't let me near characters you love - I will hurt them, Exhausted Tony Stark, Exhaustion, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hurt Tony Stark, I'm Going to Hell, I'm Sorry, Men Crying, Misunderstandings, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Non-Consensual Touching, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Hatred, Sexual Abuse, Sick Tony, Sick Tony Stark, That should so be a tag already, Tony Angst, Tony Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Daddy Issues, Tony Stark Has Nightmares, Tony Stark Has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Tony Stark Needs Sleep, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony needs love and kindness, Tony-centric, Underage in one chapter, What Have I Done, tony stark has self esteem issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-11-23 13:09:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11403069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audhds/pseuds/audhds
Summary: Everybody who is anybody knows that Anthony Edward Stark is a strange one. Even people who have never met him know that the bloke was quirky. Most think he is rude, arrogant and socially inept.Of course, Tony Stark doesn't give a fuck about what people think of him.Although it would be nice if his fellow Avengers understood that he wasn't simply doing things to be an asshole. It would be great, just once, if they would look past the mental walls that he put up. If they'd see beyond the smiling mask that he put on, day in, day out.Because the truth of the matter is that Tony Stark is falling apart, struggling to carry on living in a world that is intent on breaking him down. He is scared and has been through enough to make anybody crumble, so yes he might be a bit odd, but at least he is surviving, ok?





	1. Tea and Toast

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone :D I got attacked by plot bunnies again, quelle surprise! This is my take on Tony’s different quirks, such as his love of coffee, his hatred of being handed things and his lack of self-worth.
> 
> I know it’s been done before but I hope you like my version of things. Some are canon, some not so much, but none are unbelievable. I’ve taken some liberties with the timeline of Tony’s childhood. The car crash happened when he was seven years old in this fic, and he was present and conscious during it. Bucky had nothing to do with their death, it was simply an accident.

Everybody who is anybody knows that Anthony Edward Stark is a strange one. What was that song from Beauty and the Beast? – ‘she really is a funny girl that Belle,’ well, the same thing could be said about Tony Stark. Even people who have never met him know that the bloke is quirky. Stark was notorious for his weird ticks, although most of the time they were brushed under the carpet, explained away by the fact that geniuses through the ages were often strange and socially awkward. Look at Einstein. Perhaps it was true that there was a strong correlation between heightened intelligence and social ineptitudes. Just type ‘socially awkward geniuses’ on Google and thousands of articles and results turn up.

This was something that Stark was thankful for.

It wasn’t often that life threw him a bone, beyond the silver spoon in his mouth that he had been born with, and he was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth. However, every now and again he pondered how much easier his life would be if those around him actually understood the reasoning behind him being so socially awkward. He was fed up of being constantly accused of rudeness, arrogance and simply being dismissed as an asshole. I mean yes, he is also a bit of an asshole, but his issues run far deeper than him simply being a prat.

Apparently it took a world class archer, an ex-assassin, a giant green rage monster, a super soldier from seventy years ago and an AI to realise this.

* * *

**Tea and Toast**

* * *

If there was one thing in life that Clint couldn’t stand, it was rudeness. He’d been raised to be polite in the circus, to never be rude to a visitor as they were the paying customer, after all. Of course every now and again he earned himself a good kick by the ringmaster for forgetting his pleases and thank yous’, but on the whole he tried his best not to offend anyone (with the exclusion of those he was about to assassinate, since it didn’t really matter if he was polite to them or not – they were often dead within a minute of meeting him anyway).

So, when he had heard that Stark had been taken sick down in the lab (not getting any sunlight and living off of nothing but coffee for a week did that to a guy, especially one with a weak immune system and compromised lungs), Clint had gone down to visit him bearing grapes, a rather rude ‘Get Well Soon’ card, snarky remarks, a mug of tea and some toast. He’d dumped these by Tony’s bedside, the genius having been wrestled (literally) into bed by Steve and doped up by Bruce. However, instead of thanking Clint for his rare moment of thoughtfulness and considerate behaviour, Tony had refused the offering.

“Tea? What do you take me for, Katniss, some jumped up English boffin?” Tony remarked. His usual sassy tone was somewhat diminished by the sniffles and coughs that interrupted his speech.

“Gee, thanks for the gratitude Stark, next time I’ll just leave you there to wallow and rot down here.”

“That sounds like a great idea.” Tony sassed. “Off you fly, Tweetie-Pie. And take your disgusting tea with you.”

Clint scowled, chucked a grape at Tony’s head, left the tea and toast out of spite and ignored Tony’s call after him demanding a cup of coffee instead. Stark shouldn’t be drinking any more caffeine anyway.

“Maybe if you weren’t such a rude jerk I’d bring you some!” He yelled back when Tony launched a grape back at him, followed by a coughing fit that made Clint wince and place a hand to his own chest in sympathy. Tony’s cough had intensified from a common cold to a full on chest infection due to his reactor and the poor bloke sounded dreadful, his throat raw and his usual cutting remarks lacking their usual gusto.

Clint almost felt sorry enough for him to go and make the bloke a coffee despite the situation.

Almost.

* * *

Tony scowled and buried his face back into his pillow as soon as Clint had gone, leaving him alone in his room once again. Frankly, his chest was agony and even breathing hurt, not that he’d admit it. If there was one thing that Tony clung to, despite everything that was thrown at him, it was his pride. He knew that he had pissed Clint off (again) and glowered, wiping his nose angrily on the back of his hand before letting out a low groan. He was desperately thirsty and he really did want something to drink, which is what made the mug of tea beside him even more irritating. It was like a temptress, a siren song, but everybody knows what happens when you submit to such things. There was no way that Tony was ever going to drink tea again, let alone eat toast – he hadn’t since _that_ day.

_Tony sat in the back of the car, sobbing into his skinny arms as the car around him was cut away by firemen. The right side of the seven year old’s head was agony from where it had been smashed against the car window and there was something thick and sticky oozing down his face and neck. To_ _ny could smell burning and metal and…Tony didn’t want to think about that, but when he looked up at the fireman trying to talk to him, his gaze flickered across to his mum. Her neck was broken, her head flopping at a horrific angle and the bone sticking out from beneath her flesh. Tony proceeded to vomit up the two slices of toast that he had eaten that morning for breakfast, along with the cup of tea he’d been given at the service station. Oh, and what felt like everything he had eaten in the past month._

_All of this had happened because of him and that stupid cup of tea._

_His parents had been arguing about pulling over. Howard was yelling that they had only just been to the service station, Maria arguing that if Tony needed ‘to go,’ they had no choice but to pull over and Tony whimpering that he needed the toilet._

_He never should have drunk that cup of tea to begin with, his body too young to deal with the amount of caffeine in it, not that Howard cared enough about his son to listen to his request for a juice instead. Inevitably Tony’s bladder had been too small to accommodate the Grande cup of piping hot tea that Howard had pressed into his hands, but the boy knew better than to refuse to follow Howard’s orders._

_If only he hadn’t drunk it all, he wouldn’t have needed the toilet again. Then his father wouldn’t have been distracted, shouting at his mum instead of concentrating on the road and they would never have crashed into the tree._

_Tony sobbed as the fireman finally got hold of him, clinging to the man and burying his face into his chest, practically howling with grief as urine trickled down his thighs and he proceeded to vomit once again, this time over the fireman’s jacket._

_“Hush now, it’s alright Buddy, it’s ok. Everything’s going to be ok, you’re safe now. We’ve got you. Shhh, do you mind if I take a look at your head for you? That looks sore.” Tony shook his head and shrank back into himself, taking one last look at the car behind him. He could just about make out his father, who was sprawled across the front bonnet of the car, and of his mum still slumped in the passenger seat. Howard hadn’t been wearing a seatbelt and the sight of his lifeless body sticking out in all sorts of strange angles made Tony pass out right there and then._

_He’d never drunk a cup of tea since, to this day, and had spent his entire childhood (and most of his adult life, to be honest), convinced that the crash had been his fault, despite the adults around him stating that Howard should have been looking at the road, and that he had been speeding at the time. Not to mention the fact that his blood alcohol levels had been well over the driving limit, as discovered in his autopsy results._

Tony scowled as a single tear made its way down his cheek in bed, rolling over and pulling the duvet back over himself in a meagre attempt to block out the memories flashing through his head. The next time he threw up into the bin Bruce had placed beside him had nothing to do with the pain meds he was on, but was down to the image of his dead parents once again making it to the forefront of his mind.

Damn his ridiculously good memory and overactive brain. Tony would give anything to forget.

In a fit of anger he hauled himself into a sitting position and swiped the mug of tea and plate of toast across the room in a single motion. The crockery proceeded to shatter against the polished wood floor that he had in his bedroom. The resulting loud smash was strangely therapeutic and Tony sat for a good ten minutes watching as the brown liquid pooled into puddles on the floor. After a while all of the tea trickled into the cracks between each panel of wood.

Of course, the toast had landed butter side down, a fact that Bruce proceeded to mutter about when he returned to check on Tony half an hour later, only to find Tony’s bedroom in a mess. He’d been intending on keeping the sick man company for a while, but instead found himself cleaning Tony’s room. He didn’t have the heart to have a go at Tony though, not when his cheeks were flushed, his goatee overgrown, his hair stuck to his forehead with sweat and his hands trembling.

Not to mention the unmistakable tear tracks staining his cheeks.

Clint, however, had called Tony an ungrateful little bitch when he found out about what he’d done a few hours later.

Tony accepted this, wishing now more than ever that he could explain. The last thing he wanted was his teammate to think he was an ungrateful jerk, along with the rest of America, but he could hardly admit that he had a borderline phobia of tea and toast to his fellow Avenger.

He’d be a laughing stock.

No, Tony would do what he always did. Deal with it. After he was done puking his guts up into a bucket.


	2. I Just Don’t Like People Handing Me Things, Ok?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone :D
> 
> Thank you so much for all of your kind feedback so far! I hope that you enjoy the next chapter. Warnings for child abuse and general sad circumstances. Enjoy <3

Absentmindedly chewing on his lower lip, Bruce held out his hand for Tony to pass him the Stark Pad that the genius had been editing equations on. Together they were attempting to create a new polymer which would hopefully solve the issues of making Hulk-proof shorts that are actually Hulk proof. Banner had learnt, after dealing with the Other Guy for years, that modesty doesn’t really have a place in his new life. It’s all well and good trying to maintain public decency, but when you turn into a giant green rage monster who destroys just about anything, accidental exhibitionism shouldn’t be your top priority.

Despite this, Tony was a great friend and wanted to make Bruce’s life easier in any way possible.

Thankfully, for everybody’s sake, Tony had invented boxers for Bruce that stretched whenever he turned into the Other Guy, which prevented the issue of the team (and poor unsuspecting civilians) being face-to-face with over a foot of Hulk cock during battles. However, this did not address the issue of when Hulk shrank back down to Bruce’s normal size. The pants, no matter how many times Tony re-designed them, simply wouldn’t shrink back down to their original size at the same rate as Bruce, often leading to the scientist coming round miles away from where he started, lying or standing with a pool of overly large pants around his ankles.

But they were so close to a breakthrough now, just another hour or so of tinkering and hopefully they’d have a stable enough compound to work with.

Bruce watched Tony’s nimble fingers fly across the lab desk, calloused hands fiddling with various test tubes, measuring out chemicals and letting out an occasional grunt of annoyance, or whoop of satisfaction. Every now and again he’d flick a blueberry into his mouth as he worked (ignoring Bruce’s complaints that it wasn’t hygienic to eat in a science lab) and eventually, after hours of work, they were at the final stage.

And then everything went tits up.

Bruce tried to hand him a Bunsen burner to finish off heating just one more chemical, and Tony had flinched and lashed out so violently that he sent the incomplete polymer, Bunsen burner and half of the chemicals on his desk flying.

Tony stared down in horror, watching as the flasks of chemicals they’d been working on for hours pooled into a collective puddle, letting off disgusting fumes as it melted through all of their samples, which were destroyed in front of his eyes.

“For god’s sake Tony, why didn’t you just take it!” Bruce snapped, eyes flaring green momentarily before fading back to their usual chocolate brown. Unlike Tony, the scientist wasn’t used to staying up all night working on projects and he didn’t possess the ability to thrive on nothing but coffee and sheer determination. He was drained, exhausted, had worked himself into the ground and most of it had gone to waste. It would take at least another seven hours’ worth of work to get them back to this point. Yes, it was doable, but that didn’t make it any less of a pain in the ass.

“Ok, ok, no need to get your knickers in a twist! I’m sorry, ok, there, congratulations, you made the great Tony Stark apologise, you have achieved the impossible.” Tony raised his hands placatingly, mask back in place as he drew out his best uncaring, _happy-go-lucky-I-am-not-internally-freaking-out-right-now,-honest_ tone of voice. “Why don’t you go and get yourself some tea, not green tea though, all things considered. Go meditate and smoke a big bag of weed. Take a nap and by the time you’re back I’ll have us back to where we were.”

“Tony, that’s going to take you hours, you need to get some sleep.”

“Sleep is for the weak.” Tony sassed back with his trademark smirk strewn across his face.

“Yeah, sure. JARVIS, when is the last time that Tony slept?”

“JARVIS, do not answer that or I will donate you to-” Tony swore under his breath when he was cut off by JARVIS announcing that he hadn’t slept in over 76 hours. Goddamn that computerised traitor. Making a mental note to get revenge on his AI at some point or another, Tony tried to bargain with Bruce. “Fine, just gimme a couple of hours and I’ll call it quits, I promise. Now go and chill out before you get yourself worked up, this is meant to be a stress-free environment, remember?”

* * *

After that day, Bruce had often found himself wondering what it was with Tony and being handed things. He had witnessed first-hand how Pepper would take things offered to Tony, saving Tony from awkwardly ignoring the corporate businessmen and women who tried to hand him their files at various galas, desperate for him to look over their portfolios and offer them a job at SI. Every time this happened the redhead offered them an apologetic smile before scurrying the files away into her handbag. Not to mention how Tony would never directly take a drink from a barman, preferring to pour his own, or accept a bowl of popcorn during their movie nights. It was strange and the more Bruce came to think about it, the more he wanted answers. So he did what all scientists do.

He conducted an experiment.

The next time they were working together, Bruce placed down a rack of test tubes that he knew Tony needed right in front of the genius. Tony nodded his thanks and took one of the tubes out of the rack without thought, carrying on as if nothing had happened.

Bruce made a mental note to himself - clearly Tony didn’t have a problem with holding objects that others had held before. Which annoyingly ruined Bruce’s first theory. After observing Tony for weeks he had come to the conclusion that he was a germaphobe. It explained why Tony’s lab was always immaculate, without a single screw or wire out of place, and why he always carried a bottle of hand sanitiser with him in case he had to shake someone’s hand. The team had often thought that Tony displayed OCD tendencies, considering the tower’s modernist style where everything had a place. There was no room for clutter or knick-knacks where Tony was concerned. And yes, Tony did get mad whenever Clint got mud on one of his rugs, or when Bruce moved the coffee machine, but clearly this ran deeper than that. If Tony was a germaphobe, he wouldn’t have picked up the rack that Bruce had been holding. Especially since Bruce had deliberately smothered himself and the rack in black machine oil, and had pointedly sneezed twice during their ‘sciencing session.’

This left the only logical conclusion to be that Tony simply didn’t like being handed things. It was probably just one of his many quirks and eccentricities, but Bruce still wanted to know the reasoning behind his friend’s odd behaviour. He needed to know more.

* * *

Bruce’s next test was to see whether Tony would take things from him if he wasn’t directly trying to hand them over. With his arms full of paperwork, four heavy folders and six books stacked in his arms and tucked under his chin, Bruce deliberately walked in front of Tony and faux-staggered a little, swearing under his breath for added effect. He let the top book slide from his grip and again cursed in false annoyance as it fell to the floor with a thud. Tony, who had looked up at the commotion, stood, bent down, picked up the book and proceeded to take half of the books and folders from Bruce. Bruce was careful not to move, noting how Tony was happy to take things from him if they weren’t being deliberately handed to him. Weird.

“And you tell me I overload myself, Banner.” Tony said with a grin, placing his load on a nearby desk before turning back to what he was doing and absentmindedly taking a sip of coffee.

* * *

For his third (and last) experiment Bruce went too far. When Tony’s back was turned he pressed his notebook into Tony’s left hand, which had been hanging by his side absently.

Stark’s reaction had been unexpected, but instantaneous. The man jerked back from Bruce with a terrified yelp of fear, backing himself hard into his desk with so much force that he winded himself. Bruce immediately stepped in to apologise, internally cursing himself for allowing himself to trigger his friend purely to satisfy his own curiosity, but he was cut off mid-apology by Tony’s frantic whimper.

What Bruce had taken to be laboured breathing due to the pain in Tony’s side turned out to be the man struggling to draw breath. Tony was hyperventilating. Now that Bruce took a better look at Tony’s face, he could see that the older man was as white as a sheet, sweat trickling down his face as his eyes widened in fear. He was having a panic attack.

“Shit, Tony, I’m sorry. Just breathe for me Tone, please, it’s ok buddy, shhh, breathe for me, it’s ok.” Bruce knelt down beside Tony, watching as the man reflexively began to rub his left hand, as if trying to sooth away an ache or pain. Tears were now cascading down his face, teardrops leaking from his chocolate brown eyes and finding their resting place amongst Tony’s stubble.

“Tony?”

Tony’s eyes were completely absent and it was clear that Tony wasn’t in the same room as Bruce, at least not mentally.

* * *

 

_Tony beamed from ear to ear as he followed his father into his science lab. He’d only ever been allowed in once, on a special occasion, and he’d never been granted access since (he’d accidently knocked over some of Howard’s paperwork, which had earnt himself a very stern talking (yelling) to and a sharp punch in the ribs and a kick to the kneecap that had left him limping for days). So this was a very, very special occasion._

_Tony had been devastated when he realised that his father would probably never let him back in the lab again, after he had messed up so badly last time, but clearly this wasn’t the case. His dad had forgiven him, which was incredible. The six-year-old practically skipped as he made his way down the corridor and he felt as if all of his Christmases had come at once._

_The previous day Tony had showed Howard a blueprint for a robot that he wanted to design, and for once in his life, Howard was actually proud of his son. Perhaps the boy wasn’t as useless as he had once assumed._

_“Now Tony, remember what I said about touching anything?”_

_“Yes Howard.” Tony chirped, eyes wide as he finally got another chance to stare at the room around him. There were machines everywhere, prototypes and models of thing’s Tony’s brain couldn’t even begin to understand._

_“Good. Now go stand over there, you can help me build this new circuit board that I’m trialling.”_

_The pair spent three hours working on various machines, Howard getting increasingly angrier as things started to go wrong. First he had dropped the screwdriver he was using, snapping angrily at Tony for distracting him and making him lose focus. Then, the damn piece of wire that should have fitted the hole perfectly did not._

_“Tony, pass me the soldering iron, dammit.”_

_Tony did as he was told, handing over the instrument carefully and wincing as Howard thrust a scalpel into his own smaller hands absently, trading the two items without thought. Tony held back a whimper as the sharp blade cut into his hand, staring at the small stab wound which had immediately welled up with blood. Although the blade had been relatively thin, it had travelled deep, almost all of the way through Tony’s palm. It burned and stung unbearably and to his horror, tears began to fill Tony’s eyes._

_“Da-Howard? I-”_

_“Not now Tony, I’m busy.” Howard snapped, not even bothering to spare his son a glance as he carried on with the intricate work he was doing. Tony bit his lip and nodded to himself, knowing full well that Howard wouldn’t notice his response anyway. When his father was like this, it was best to stay quiet and to make yourself as small as possible. That was a lesson that Tony had learnt the hard way._

_After another ten minutes of Tony desperately trying to hold back his sniffles, Howard spoke up again. “Tony, take this, I’m nearly there now. I just need to grab one more part.” The billionaire grabbed the handle of the soldering iron and held it out to Tony, leaving the small boy with no cool part of the tool to hold._

_“Howard,” I can’t it’s too hot, you’ll burn me. Tony left the second half of his sentence unspoken, knowing that speaking out of turn would just get him in more trouble, and more hurt than if he just did what he was told._

_With a shaking hand, Tony took hold of the white-hot soldering iron, the metal having heated beyond the realms of being red hot. At first there was no pain at all, and then it took all of Tony’s willpower not to scream as the agony hit him hard and fast, punishingly brutal as the metal began to burn through his flesh._

_After a solid minute Tony couldn’t take it anymore, and he tried to drop the burning hot tool. He knew that dropping it, and potentially breaking it, would get him in deep trouble, but he couldn’t bare the pain at all._

_The only problem was that it had stuck to his melted skin and even when Tony struggled to pry the soldering iron out of his grip with his good hand, it soon became clear that he was getting nowhere._

_He let out an agonised scream when he eventually managed to shift the tool a few millimetres out of his grasp._

_“Nghhhhhhhhhhhhh!” Howard spun round and caught sight of his son doubled over in pain, and now that he had drawn his focus away from his work, he could smell the rancid scent of burning meat. Jesus it smelt like a barbeque!_

_His eyes widened as he saw the state that Tony was in. His eyes were wide, his skin paper white as he swayed, an ashen hint to his cheeks. Without warning Tony buckled forwards, collapsing into his father’s grip with a whimper._

_“Daddy! Daddy help, it hurts, Howard please!” Tony began to wriggle in pain as he was lowered onto the ground, violent sobs escaping him as the pain got worse with each passing second. He vomited weakly all over the floor and didn’t fail to notice Howard’s groan of annoyance as vomit splashed on a pile of his paperwork._

_“Daddy, m’sorry. Sorry. ‘ll be good, please make it stop, please!” Tony curled up into a ball, shaking as Howard grabbed his hand to examine it._

_“For fuck sake Tony, can’t you do anything right, I swear if I hadn’t had a paternity test done, I wouldn’t believe you are mine. I knew I shouldn’t have let you back in here, god, the amount of covering up this is going to need. You are so god damned stupid, you are a disgrace to the name of Stark!” Howard spat, making Tony cry even harder._

_Then, without warning, Howard yanked the soldering iron out of his grip, ripping an inhuman scream of pain from his son._

_For a few instants, all Tony knew was pain. Pain, pain, pain and everything swam in and out of focus as he tried his best not to pass out. Tony wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but all of a sudden there were hands supporting his wrist, voices and concerned faces swaying above him as his pain-addled mind desperately tried to make sense of what was going on._

_“It’s ok Tony. I’ve gotcha, it’s alright, I’ve got you. I’m here now.” Was that Jarvis?_

_Tony leaned into the comforting embrace of his butler, whimpering into his crisp wool suit when he began to wonder how much trouble he would be in for all of this. He’d made a mess, he’d been too loud, he’d spoken out of turn and worse of all he had made a scene. He had cried. Boys aren’t meant to cry, especially Starks. Starks are made of iron, they don’t show emotion._

_And what if he got his dad into trouble?_

_The pain had reached a whole new level now, every nerve in his body screaming at him to just let go. And Tony did just that, willingly sinking into darkness, but not before he stared down at his injured hand and realised that it had been burnt right down to the bone. He could just about make out the white bone marrow and the yellow fat tissue before he went under._

* * *

_Tony forgave his dad, of course. It was his fault for being so useless in the lab earlier anyway. If he hadn’t made Howard mad, his father wouldn’t have messed up so much and got angrier, and he’d probably have thought more rationally before handing Tony the boiling hot tool. And after all, he couldn’t stay mad when Howard had been kind enough to pay for his private surgery. Or, well, surgeries, as Tony underwent multiple skin grafts to fix the gaping wound in his hand._

_However, that didn’t stop Tony’s fear of ever taking an object from his father again. Or from anyone else, for that matter._

* * *

When Tony eventually came round from his panic attack he found himself curled up in Bruce’s grip.

Shit. He’d lost control again.

“Tony? Are you with me now?”

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be, Brucie Bear.” Tony tried for his usual cocky tone of voice but the weak and shaky croak he managed really wasn’t hacking it.

“Tony I’m so sorry. I was just trying to work out why you don’t take things from me, it was stupid. I was just curious and you know what they say about curiosity and cats and, Jesus, I should have just asked you, I understand if you hate be right now, I was an idiot but-”

“Ok, ok. I get it you’re sorry. You so need to take a chill pill because I really don’t want to have to deal with the Jolly Green Giant right now.” Tony clapped Bruce on the shoulder before standing, staggering a little as he regained his bearings and forced his breathing back to normal. “You’re forgiven. I understand. I am an interesting bloke after all, it’s understandable that you want to know more about me. Just ask next time, I’m an open book.”

“Thank you. If you don’t mind me asking, why are you fiddling with your hand so much? Is it to do with the being handed things thing?”

Tony groaned. He so should not have given Bruce permission to ask him things. “Yeah. It’s just an old lab wound from when I was a kid. Nothing special, y’know what it’s like. An old battle wound, I’ve had worse.” Yep, typical Stark, hiding from his problems.

“When you were a kid? Your father let you work in his lab?”

“Only twice. He was never really one for daddy-son bonding time.” Tony chuckled, tucking his hand into his pocket.

“You can talk to me, you know. I’m pretty sure there’s something you’re not telling me. And I don’t see what a lab wound has to do with you not liking being handed things?” Bruce pulled out his best puppy dog eyes and eventually Tony’s will crumbled.

“Dad accidentally burnt me when I was a kid, handed me a hot tool. It was a simple mistake, nothing to get het up about, it’s stupid, and an irrational fear but I can’t seem to shake it. But hey, even I can’t be 100 percent perfect. I’ll stick with ninety-nine point nine percent. It’s just a pet peeve.”

Bruce always prided himself in knowing when to move away from a situation, hell, he had to all the time what with having to avoid the Other Guy making regular appearances, so he simply accepted Tony’s explanation without question.

However, from what little he had gleaned about Tony’s childhood, he was sure that there was more to this than meets the eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all know what to do <3


	3. I Just Don't Like Birthdays, Ok?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING.
> 
> This chapter is dark. Really dark. It contains the sexual abuse of a child. I have updated the tags accordingly. Please read them before proceeding.
> 
> Please, please, please skip this chapter if you will find this upsetting in any way. It is far darker than anything I have ever written before and although it contains no actual sex, there is a handjob and blowjob. Tony is too young to consent. I do not condone this in any way, this is purely fictional. 
> 
> I can't believe I wrote this but it just seemed to happen. So yeah, don't read it if you don't want to. This chapter can easily be skipped, or you can read up to the italics. This is why I have not marked the story as Underage overall, because the chapter can be skipped, and there will only be a brief non-graphic mention of it later in the fic.
> 
> So yeah, don't read if this will trigger you. I'm now going to wallow in self-loathing at myself for writing this.

Tony stirred in bed, woken by JARVIS’ reassuring tone announcing the time, date and local weather forecast. It was a programme that Tony had written that ensured JARVIS would wake him up every time he was displaying outward signs of having a nightmare. Yes it meant that he hardly got any sleep, but it also meant that he didn’t have to relive horrific memories over and over again every time he closed his eyes.

“Good morning Sir, the time is currently six twenty-seven, am, the date is the 29th of May and the temperature outside is twenty one degrees. And, if it is not impertinent, I would like to wish Sir a happy bi-”

“Ok J, that’s enough, I get the picture.” Tony rolled out of bed, grimacing at the foul taste in his mouth. His tongue felt fuzzy from the night before, he’d forgotten to brush his teeth in lieu of fetching another coffee before bed, and now he was paying the price. Like during every other morning, Tony found himself exhausted, his eyes sticky and reluctant to open after receiving less than three hours of sleep. That in itself wouldn’t have been too bad, if Tony had actually slept for more than ten hours over the previous week.

Oh, and to make matters worse, it was his birthday. And if there was anything Tony hated more than dumbass super-villain-of-the-weeks trying to take over New York (and the world, if they were feeling particularly delusional and ambitious), it was birthdays.

Besides the massive shitstorm of a birthday party he had hosted that year when he thought he was dying (hey, who could blame him), he never celebrated for his birthday. Oh, and he may or may not have bribed the head honchos who ran all of America’s news companies to not bring his birthday up under any circumstance.

He still regretted the one birthday party he had hosted, what with everything that went down with Rhodey, and he was still embarrassed by what a fool of himself he had made. Despite years of practiced alcohol drinking, Tony had woken up from that party with the worst headache he’d ever had in his life, alongside distant memories of falling around in his suit and of using his repulsors to shoot things in the air above civilians (which in itself was beyond dangerous and irresponsible). Talk about bad press. Thank goodness that had been before he’d gotten together with the rest of the Avengers, because if they’d have found out about that, they’d probably have never let him on the team to begin with. Tony Stark not recommended and all that.

Which was how (and why), thankfully, Tony had been able to avoid bringing up his date of birth with them. And now that Rhodey was out on vacation, Pepper was off dating some smarmy prick in a suit from the PR department and Happy was off enjoying the Lamborghini that Tony had given him as a ‘thank you’ for putting up with his shit for so long, there was nobody to tell the Avengers.

Blissful in the knowledge that he wouldn’t be reminded of his birthday again by anybody other than his AI, Tony threw himself into his work. As usual he had a to-do-list longer than War and Peace (ok, maybe a slight exaggeration, but you get the point), and although he’d tackled most of his work for SI and had finally gotten round to doing all of Coulson’s goddamned paperwork, there was still plenty to do. There were prototypes to test, weapons to build (strictly for the Avengers only, of course) and suits to upgrade. Not to mention the new hearing aids that he was currently working on, inspired by Clint, which would hopefully be available worldwide in less than a month. They were a revolutionary piece of kit, if Tony did say so himself, so yeah maybe Tony had pulled a few too many hours of overtime recently, but it was worth it.

Putting thoughts of the other projects he was working on aside, Tony sat at his desk and began to contemplate the gauntlet he was working on. After half an hour Tony was sat with a screwdriver held in his mouth as he chewed its plastic handle, fingers twirling a spanner around as he tapped his foot to the ridiculously loud AC/DC track that he was listening too. He wasn’t getting anywhere fast and despite having designed over twenty different gauntlets for his suit, Tony still wasn’t overly happy with this new prototype’s performance. It had to be faster, more efficient. Not to mention the fact that it needed to have more impact. If he was ever going to make himself more useful to the team, Tony was going to have to raise his game.

He knew that his fellow Avengers only stayed at the tower with him because of the mod-cons and luxury suites, not to mention the near-constant bribes of new tech and science labs, and that they only allowed him to be part of the team as they needed his money, and aforementioned weapons. The thought made Tony’s heart ache, but he was used to it. It didn’t hurt as much now as it used to.

Of course at first he had been thrilled by the idea of having potential friends move in with him. It was a chance to form some genuine relationships that meant something, rather than him simply being sweet-talked by businessmen or women who wanted to get into his pants or to be offered a job by him. Oh, and the corporation leaders who schmoozed with him in the hopes of generous donations.

To be fair, Tony couldn’t blame any of them for trying, but just once it would be nice for somebody to talk to him because they were interested in him as person, rather than in what he had achieved and what he could offer them. Y’know, some genuine human interaction.

At first he thought that he had found this with the team. For a start a lot of them were reluctant to move in with him in the first place, which meant that they weren’t purely drawn in by the promise of luxury. Not to mention the fact that they had all made a point of trying to get to know him when they had moved in. Nat had set up a team meal which would occur once a week, and Clint had suggested they should start up a bi-weekly movie night so that they would have a chance to get to know each other.

This had been great at first, but the problem with being Tony Stark is that you don’t have enough free time. To be honest Tony hadn’t sat through an entire film since his college years (usually when he was too hungover to do anything else), and whenever he tried to spend an entire movie night with the team, he had a tendency of receiving important video or phone calls. Despite that fact that he was clearly being forced from the group activities (the same thing happened with their group meals and Tony had missed his turn to cook all but two times), the team were beginning to grow resentful.

Yes, they’d be civil, but their relationships didn’t go much further than that. I mean, they’d express gratitude when he helped them out, gave them tech or saved their asses out on a mission, but Tony couldn’t remember the last time that anybody had bothered to ask him if he was ok. Sure, even if they did ask, he would simply lie, but that was beside the point. It’d just be nice for them to ask. Just once. Once!

Sighing, Tony resigned himself to another full day of working down in his lab alone. He didn’t really mind, his lab was his safe space, not that he’d ever admit that to anybody, but there is something inherently depressing about spending your birthday on your own, even if you told yourself every year that birthdays are stupid and a waste of time. Oh, and the fact that your birthday isn’t worth celebrating because that would mean that your life is something to be happy about, and Tony didn’t have a high enough opinion of himself to even consider that his teammates would be thankful that he existed.

Wait, that got dark all of a sudden.

Tony shook his head and glared at the gauntlet in his hand. It was looking good. Maybe he’d treat himself to a coffee in a while?

* * *

Tony strolled into the kitchen and let out a small huff of relief when none of his fellow Avengers glanced up at him when he entered. They definitely didn’t know. He was safe. All of them were too busy sitting around the breakfast bar discussing their latest run-in with Fury and his new paperwork initiative.

“Hey Tony, fancy joining us for a bit?” Bruce called out, raising his voice so that Tony would hear him over the coffee machine. So much for that wishful thinking. Oh to gain some peace in your own tower…

Tony gave a non-committal grunt by means of a response, and the moment his coffee was ready, he walked back out of the kitchen, cradling it in his hands. As soon as he shut the steel door behind him, he leant up against the cool metal and slid down it a few inches, his back resting against the smooth surface as he took a few deep breaths. His skin was prickling all over with anxiety, the fear of one of them knowing it was his birthday having been subconsciously bothering him more than he’d realised.

* * *

Nat rolled her eyes as soon as Tony left the room, voicing her irritation at Tony’s constant moodiness. “I swear, no wonder the media hates him half the time. People say I’m the cold one, but I swear trying to have a conversation with Stark is paramount to chatting up a brick wall.” Clint snorted at that, swigging another mouthful of juice before joining in.

“Yeah, every time I’ve tried to chat to him this week he’s parred me off. I mean, I keep trying but I think Tony’s taking the Iron Man thing too seriously, he acts like he’s actually a robot. I swear I’ve never actually seen him express any emotion. All he does is talk science and flirt. And that’s not even real emotion, he just does it to get what he wants. He’s practically Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz!”

Nat chortled at that and even Bruce smirked slightly.

“He sure was right when he described himself as a man in a can. I’m pretty sure there’s something screwy with him, up there, I mean.” Clint continued, twirling his finger by the side of his head to indicate that Stark was crazy.

“Maybe he just takes a while to open up to people.” Bruce interjected, feeling slightly sorry for the man. Yes Tony had some intimacy issues, but that didn’t mean that he has no emotions or feelings. “Besides, he’s so busy all of the time, it’s hardly like he has much time for team bonding.”

“Nah, I’m convinced that he’s just an asshole.” Clint muttered, which was the last straw for Tony, who had been stood listening to the entire conversation from the other side of the door. To his shame, there were tears rolling down his cheeks as a familiar, yet nonetheless crushing, sense of self-loathing rushed over him. Of course the team hated him. Why was he even slightly surprised to hear them voice it out loud? Why did it hurt this much?

Usually Tony wouldn’t have minded so much, but this day…it was always hard and he was always more emotional around birthdays, no matter who they belonged to. Sure he was the master of buying presents (having a ridiculous amount of money means that no gift is beyond your means) but he usually ducked out of meals out and parties, especially these days.

What with the Avengers and the need to not cause them bad press, Tony’s partying days were over.

Tony wiped the tears from his eyes and made his way back down to his lab, turning his music up obnoxiously loud before working on Clint’s new exploding arrowheads. Sure it wouldn’t make any difference to the archer’s low opinion of him, but needs must.

* * *

Natasha frowned when she went to retrieve the post from downstairs, nobody else having bothered to get it that morning. As usual. There, in amongst Tony’s bills and the team’s fan mail (which had all been pre-screened for anything dangerous) was a blue envelope with Tony’s name written elegantly across the front. It was one of those pretty envelopes that you only ever get at Christmas, or on your birthday.

Strange.

Nat made her way into the communal living area to distribute the letters with her teammates, all of whom were equally confused about the card.

“Isn’t that Pepper’s writing?” Steve asked, wondering why the redhead was sending Tony a card. The ex-couple weren’t exactly on good terms at the moment, what with their breakup, so why was she contacting him? Surely if she wanted his attention she could just video call him? For that matter, why not text, call or email him? Weird.

“Who cares? Nat, go give it to him why don’t you. It’s none of our business.” Banner huffed, swiping the letter out of Clint’s hands before the archer tore into it himself.

“No way, I’m the one that got the post in the first place. Why don’t you go? I can’t be bothered to deal with Stark and the eternal dark cloud that’s hovering around him right now.”

“Fine.” Bruce stood and walked out of the door, only to be followed by Clint. "What?”

“I want to know what’s going on.” Clint muttered with a shrug. “Not like there’s anything else to do right now. Apart from more paperwork, but to be honest I’d rather break my bow than subject myself to anymore of that.”

The pair wandered down the corridor to Tony’s lab, using an override code to open the door when Tony failed to hear them calling him over his ridiculously loud music – now Metallica.

* * *

“Hey Tone,” Bruce smiled, patting the genius on the shoulder gently to announce his presence. Tony jumped nevertheless, his heart hammering for a moment as he spun himself around on his chair to see who was intruding on his personal space. Maybe he shouldn’t have put JARVIS’ messaging service on mute.

“Hey Brucie Bear, Tweetie Pie. How can I be of assistance?” Tony pasted his cheesiest grin onto his face as he put down the tablet he was working on.

“You’ve got mail.” Clint announced as Bruce set down the card and bills onto Tony’s table, reminding himself not to hand it to the man at the last second.

“Cheers.” Tony muttered, pointedly ignoring the card.

“Aren’t you going to open it then?” Clint asked, curiosity too much for him at this point in time.

“What, you want to stand there and watch me open my fan mail. Haven’t you got better things to do?”

“As a matter of fact, I haven’t. So go on.”

Tony rolled his eyes and spun his chair around so that his back was facing Bruce and Clint, opening the card with trembling hands as he did his best to shield it from their view. Of course, Clint spotted the ‘Happy Birthday’ message on the front of the card in the split second Tony had failed to cover it in.

“Happy Birthday?” Clint questioned, tone currently unreadable.

“Wait, it’s your birthday? Why didn’t you tell us?” Bruce sounded hurt. Great, that’s just what Tony needed. A crappy anniversary with a side order of guilt and misery, please.

“It’s not a big deal. I just don’t like birthdays.” Tony mumbled, closing the card from Pepper when another jab of emotional pain stabbed him through the chest. Pepper. Of course she remembered. Beautiful, headstrong, loyal, incredible, intelligent Pepper who meant the world to him. Who he’d let get away.

“You really are a prick, y’know that. Then again, I guess birthdays aren’t a big deal if you are already the man who has everything. Did you want to save yourself the hassle of pretending to be grateful for a present from us? Stop yourself from having to pretend to be grateful for a watch that we saved up for weeks to buy, when you have an entire drawer worth that are worth fifty times more!”

“What? No, I just-” Tony spluttered, indignantly.

“Can it. After all we try and do to help you! All of the meals, and you can’t even be a decent enough human being to at least pretend that you aren’t better than us!”

“No, you’ve got this all wrong Clint. I simply don’t like-”

“Yeah, sure. Stupid, dumb Clint doesn’t understand the genius that is Stark. Well whatever, I’m done even bothering with trying to be nice to you.”

“Fine. Whatever, just go!” Tony snapped, rising to his feet and balling his fists in a mix of frustration and anger. “Go fuck yourself, Clint. And you too Bruce. Just fuck off and leave me alone, unless you have any personal insults you want to throw at me as well, Banner? Go on, go ahead, get it while it’s hot!” Tony spat, puffing his chest out in anger as he squared up with his teammates.

“Tony, Clint doesn’t mean-”

“Yes he does!” “Yes I do!” Both men snapped, Clint walking out of the room leaving Tony to glower at Bruce.

“Just go Bruce, I’m not in the mood.” Tony sighed and ran his hand through his hair. His hand came away oily from the amount of grease in it. Yeah, Tony should really start treating himself better sometime soon.

“Tony please. Clint was being unfair, none of us think that-”

“Yes you do. I’m just a man in a can, remember? That’s what you were all saying earlier. I have no emotions. I’m not a team player. I only care about myself! Yeah, that’s right, I overheard you all in the kitchen!” Tony’s eyes were sharp with anger as he shouted at his friend. Or at least the man he had once thought was a friend.

“Well in that case you would have heard me backing you up and having a go at them for half an hour after they said that.” Bruce said, raising his hands placatingly and attempting to draw Tony into a hug.

Tony yanked himself away and punched Bruce hard around the jaw, fight or flight instincts kicking in. Memories of past birthdays had been at the forefront of his mind all day, and his fragile mental state was definitely not up to any sexual touching of any kind, even if Bruce was only intending for the hug to be a friendly, calming gesture.

Bruce’s eyes flashed green with rage and he practically ran out of Tony’s room, nursing his possibly-broken jaw in one hand as he sprinted to his Hulk-Out room.

Tony watched him go and sank to the ground, leaning his back against his desk as he broke down into heartbroken sobs. He just had to go and make things worse, didn’t he? Make them hate him even more than before.

Just five minutes later Tony found himself listening to a furious voicemail from the Black Widow, shrinking away from her screams as she tore into him for hurting the one guy who was actually kind enough to put up with his crap.

Tony closed his eyes and let his mind wander, shouts still echoing in his ears.

* * *

_“Howard! Howard!” Tony beamed up at his father, clutching at his sleeve and tugging on it excitedly. “Howard, Happy Birthday!!!” The little boy shrieked, happy giggles escaping his lips as he tried to tug his father over to the kitchen._

_“Not now Tony, I’m busy. You know I don’t celebrate birthdays. What have I told you about them being a waste of time?!” Howard snapped, yanking his sleeve out of his son’s grip and sending the six year old sprawling into the wall beside them._

_"But Daddy, I made you a cake! It’s carrot, your favourite! Even though carrots are a vegetable and it’s weird to put vegetables in puddings, but I made it because you like it and it took me ages and ages and I just wanted to make you happy! Are you not happy? Did I do something wrong? I’m sorry Daddy, I didn’t mean to ruin your birthday!” Tony’s eyes filled with tears as his mouth ran at a mile a minute, words spewing out before Tony’s brain had the chance to remind him that his father didn’t like Tony to talk much. He had an annoying voice, after all, and nothing interesting to say to boot._

_“What have I told you about calling me that, Tony?! You’re not a child anymore, you should know better!” The six year old nodded quickly, trying to placate his father before he got angry. “Just go. I have work to do. Stay out of my sight and grow up!”_

_Tony nodded and made his way up into his bedroom, desperately rubbing the tears from his eyes because he didn’t want to be a stupid child anymore. He should be a grown-up, like Howard said._

* * *

_“Tony? Hey buddy, how’re you doing?” Tony glanced up in surprise when his bedroom door opened to reveal his father. The boy hadn’t expected to see his dad for the rest of the day, if not week considering that he was mad at him, so this was a nice surprise._

_“Howard? M’sorry for being a nuisance and a waste of space. I didn’t mean it.” Tony whispered, crawling out from his covers and sitting on the edge of his bed so that he could swing his legs._

_“That’s ok Tone, I know that you didn’t mean it.” Howard said kindly, taking a few steps towards his son before kneeling down in front of him and cupping his cheek tenderly with one hand. He smelt strongly of whiskey and Tony braced himself for the worst. To be hit. But the blow never came. Instead, Howard did the unexpected. He was nice to Tony. “I had a slice of the cake you made. It was very nice, thank you.”_

_Tony gaped at the older man, confusion evident in his eyes as he wondered why his dad had changed his mind all of a sudden. That was very unlike his father._

_“I’m glad you liked it. I just want to be a good boy, like you said. I wanted to make you happy.”_

_“You did, Son. I love you very much, you know that, right?” Tony nodded, although to be honest he didn’t know that at all. Most of the time his father screamed that he hated him. Adults were so confusing. “I’ll tell you what Tony, do you know what would make me very, very happy?”_

_“No? What would Howard? I promise I will do it really well for you though!”_

_“Well, that’s good. What would make me very happy is playing a game with you.”_

_“YAY!” Tony cried out, excitement momentarily making him forget to keep his voice down. “Sorry, I just love games! What do you want to play? I have chess, or Battleships, or maybe we could play with my building stuff, that’d be really fun!”_

_“I’m sure they would be great, Tony, but I am talking about a different game. A special game, one that you won’t have played before. It’s only for special occasions, private occasions. Do you understand?” Howard said, settling beside his son on the bed and stroking a hand through his hair gently. Tony melted at the unfamiliar comforting touch, snuggling into his father’s chest experimentally and huffing out a contented little sigh when his father pulled him into a loose embrace._

_“I understand. This is so exciting. Is it a special birthday game? One that we can only play on your birthday?!” Howard nodded and ruffled his son’s hair. “Awesome! Is it a secret game? Like a spy game?”_

_“Something like that. You’ll have a task. Like a spy mission, cool, right?”_

_“Awesome! I love spies, they’re super cool!” Tony beamed. “How do we play?”_

_“Well, Tony, first thing’s first, you can’t play in your pyjamas, can you?” Tony looked down at his dinosaur pyjamas in confusion, not knowing why he couldn’t, but he didn’t want to look stupid so he went along with it. He shucked off his pyjamas unashamedly, not understanding the implications, and stood in front of his dad when he was only in his boxers._

_“Much better. You are such a good boy Tony. Now, I guess it’s unfair that I’m wearing all of my clothes, and you’re not. I’ll take mine off too so that we are equal.”_

_Tony watched as his father stripped, although the older man took off his tight boxer briefs as well. The boy flushed with shame. He’d been stupid, clearly he was meant to have taken his underwear off as well. Trust him to mess up the game by being dumb. Quickly, hoping to not make his father call off the game, Tony stripped down so that he too was completely naked._

_Jarvis had once talked to him about his body being private, but that didn’t really count when he was only with his dad, right?_

_“Howard?” Tony whispered, his voice meek as he voiced his concern. “Why is you willy bigger than mine?”_

_“That’s because I’m an adult, Tony. Yours will grow when you are a big boy too. I’ll tell you what, why don’t you just touch mine and see, ok? It's part of the game.”_

_Tony nodded. It made sense. It would be good to get to know what his body would be like in the future. His dad always said it was best to be prepared. Fail to prepare, prepare to fail._

_Cautiously he reached out a small hand and touched his father’s penis, eyes widening as he saw it twitch and swell before his very eyes. It was hard? Was that normal?_

_“Well done Tony! You’re doing really well, you’re a natural at this game!” Howard beamed. “Now, why don’t you hold your hand like this, that’s it, perfect, now move it up and down. Gently now. Ok, a little harder. That’s good. You’re such a good little boy Tony, so smart. Keep going now.”_

_Tony beamed at the praise, following his father’s instructions and carrying on even when his dad started to make weird grunting noises._

_“That’s it. So good. So proud of you baby boy.” Howard leant forward and kissed Tony on the cheek, so gentle and tender that Tony felt his heart ache a little. His dad never hugged him or kissed him like this. Maybe now things would change. He just wished that he could play this game more than once a year if it was the only way to make his dad happy._

_“Now Tony, do you want to play the next level of the game?” Howard said, moving Tony’s hand away from his rigid cock and giving it a few strokes of his own, rubbing his slit and moaning in pleasure._

_“Ok.” Tony said, eager to continue making his dad proud._

_“Right then. What I want you to do is to get down on the floor in front of me. On your knees in between my legs. That’s it, good boy. Now, I want you to open your mouth as wide as you can and put my willy in it, ok?”_

_Tony frowned in confusion. That didn’t really sound fun, but if it’s what his father wanted…_

_The boy dripped down onto his knees and took his father into his mouth, following the older man’s instructions to suck on it like he would a lollipop, heeding his warnings to not use his teeth. He could only take the first two inches into his mouth and the taste was horrible, but Tony carried on for a while before pulling off._

_“Daddy? I don’t like this game. I want to stop. Can we play chess instead?”_

_A flash of anger crossed Howard’s eyes and the man grabbed Tony’s face, prying his jaw open and jamming his cock all of the way into the boy’s throat, making the child gag and cry. “You are such an ungrateful little shit! Just do what I say!” All signs of affection were gone from his eyes as Howard began to thrust roughly, moaning and slapping Tony across the face, ordering him to use his tongue more before eventually something warm, bitter and salty sprayed into the back of Tony’s mouth, making bile rise up his throat._

_After a few more thrusts Howard pulled his softening dick out of Tony’s mouth, wiping his spent cock over the boy’s tearstained face before pulling his shirt and trousers back on._

_“God, just take a look at yourself. You’re pathetic. You’re never going to be a real man, Tony, crying like a little bitch. Pathetic. You can’t even follow my instructions on my birthday, you have to go and make me be rough with you.” Howard slapped his son hard across the face before striding out of his bedroom, ordering the boy to clean up and to never mention this again._

_And Tony wouldn’t. He never wanted to admit that he had ruined his daddy’s birthday game._

_The little boy cleaned himself up in the shower and curled up in bed. For some reason he felt dirty and unclean, despite having just washed, and he cried into his pillow for the rest of the night._

* * *

It wasn’t until his twelfth birthday, when his friend showed him his first porn video that Tony realised what his father had done all those years ago.

But the man was dead. And it wasn’t as if boys could get raped, right? They were meant to take it like real men and be strong. Sex is something men are meant to like. Maybe he was broken?

* * *

Ever since Tony had turned twelve, when he realised what had happened, he had hated his birthday. It was one of the anniversaries of how he had lost his innocence, along with the anniversaries of his father’s birthdays. Those dates bought up horrible memories and he did all that he could to forget, drowning himself in bottle after bottle of expensive alcohol, consensual sex and drugs. They never made the pain go away though, or erased what had happened to him that night.

No matter what Clint and the others thought, Tony had way too many emotions and feelings, not too few.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was twisted.  
> I don't believe I wrote it.
> 
> Yeah.  
> Damn.
> 
> Please don't slate me for writing this, I did warn you!
> 
> Next update will be in a week as I am away :)


	4. Chill Out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> Sorry this took a while but I was at a festival working for Oxfam (we raised over £15,000!!!) and then my phone broke so I couldn't reply to comments, then I was back at work and life is hectic! But I now have a new phone, so yay - although my bank account is crying.
> 
> Also sorry for not replying to your beautiful comments yet! I have read them all and you have made my day, and I promise to reply to them all tomorrow, but I thought since you've spent so long waiting that I'd get a chapter out rather than reply to them all.
> 
> So yeah, I'll do that first thing tomorrow!
> 
> I hope you are all well :)

As soon as the CEO of Intracore Processing LTD turned his back on Tony, having shaken his hand firmly, Tony let out a small sigh of relief, his hand reflexively wandering up to the top button of his shirt. Once again he found himself being subjected to yet another boring gala full of boring people, making boring conversation, eating boring, bland food and listening to boring music. If you haven’t got the clue by now, the entire event was boring as fuck.

He was stuffed into what he distastefully dubbed as a penguin suit, and although it was the best that money could buy, made out of 100% natural silk and tailored to perfection, that didn’t make it any comfier to wear. The suit was stifling him, the top button resting uncomfortably on his neck and knocking his Adam’s apple every time he looked down. The feeling reminded Tony of choking, which he had way too much experience with (and not the sexy kind either, but the being strangled to death variation). Not to mention the Iron Man suit-red bowtie that was fastened tightly around his neck. Originally it had been fairly loose, but Pepper had tutted at him and re-tied it herself. And that in itself was awkward, considering the fact that she’d been face to face with him despite them only having participated in around three meaningful conversations since their break-up.

To make matters worse, even those had been made over the phone so that there was no need to be in the same room as each other as they opened up a little.

To make matters worse, it was the height of summer, meaning that everybody else in the room was giving off far too much body heat. The few who were bothering to dance only succeeded in making the room even more hot and sweaty. And then there was the fact that Tony had to wear a very thick, light-blocking vest under his shirt to hide the ever-present arc reactor’s bright blue light. The last thing he needed was for people to realise that the arc reactor was not only part of his suits, but part of him. That would open him up to god knows how vulnerable that would make him to kidnappers/those wanting to hold him to ransom/ potential murderers. To be made more vulnerable was the last thing that Tony needed right now, especially since he was currently overwhelmed and exhausted from having to deal with the demands of the Avengers, SI, Fury, Coulson, his never ending to-do-list, nightmares and countless panic attacks. As usual he couldn’t remember the last time that he’d had a full night’s sleep.

Downing a cool glass of cheap champagne in an attempt to cool down, Tony turned to find himself face to face with Pepper. She looked glorious and Tony’s heart ached when he saw the stunning emerald necklace that hung around her slim neck – usually all of the jewellery she wore was bought by Tony himself (nine times out of ten when he gave her some extra money to buy something nice to make up for him being an ass). But this wasn’t from him. It was from PR Pete, as Tony now gloomily referred to him as. And to make matters worse (from a disgustingly selfish point of view, of course), she looked happy. Radiant. In fact, she was almost glowing with happiness, her teeth pearly white as she flashed him an almost-too-cheerful smile.

“Tony, Honey, I hope that’s the first one of those you’ve had tonight.” Her tone was light and joking, but Tony didn’t miss the steely glint in her eye. All of the love and comradery they’d once had was gone. Sure she had always been fairly hard on him, especially since the Iron Man fiasco started and he practically killed himself by launching himself into a wormhole, but this was something else.

Before she’d yelled at him late into the night about his obsessions and constant tinkering, not understanding his need (not desire or choice, but NEED) to continue building more suits, but now she was just resigned to giving up on him. Pepper didn’t get that after everything had gone to shit, Tony needed to regain control. He was confronted with a problem – keeping her safe, and he had to approach that issue in the only way he could. Methodically. Tinkering and using his mechanic’s brain to solve the problem. But Pepper didn’t see it that way. She was too emotional for that, screeching that he never spent any time with her anymore, that he wouldn’t come to bed and sleep with her – what was the point of working so hard to keep her alive if they didn’t spend any time together anyway? She may as well be dead for all the attention he was actually giving her in a literal sense. Well, that’s how Pepper saw it.

Tony could see where she was coming from, one hundred percent, but he couldn’t stop. The need to actively do something, anything, was impossible to ignore. He needed to achieve something constructive. One suit was not enough. Nor were ten. Or twenty. Or hundreds. He was facing an unknown threat, any crazy attack could be around the corner, threatening those he loved, and there was nothing he could do but prepare in whatever way he could. But it was like revising for a test without knowing what subject he was meant to be studying. Would his next foe fly? Swim? Bury itself underground? It could come from anywhere.

The suits would never be enough, because Tony wasn’t enough. He’d never be good enough. They were all flawed and destructible, and without them Tony was useless. He was just a man in a can. Practically a civilian. A civilian with a little training in hand to hand combat and a higher IQ than most, sure, but he was only human. He wasn’t a trained assassin like Clint and Nat. Without his weapons, he had no hope of helping anyone.

He was useless.

Years of being put down by everybody around him was enough to prove that. First, obviously, was Howard. The father who he had never once made truly proud of his achievements. His mother who was disappointed in life in general (including Tony), Pepper, who’d left him, Rhodey who he’d let down one too many times, not to mention the team. What was it that Natasha had said – he wasn’t recommended. And yeah, that still fucking stung, because no matter what people said about him, Tony did his damndest to make the world a better place and it was _never_ enough.

Knowing deep down inside of you that you’re nothing is hard enough to deal with, let alone having to deal with people saying it to his face, even if not in so many words.

For years Tony had been piling anxiety onto anxiety, stress onto stress, exhaustion onto exhaustion and trauma onto trauma. And it was too much.

All of a sudden the room seemed to close into him and Tony realised that he’d ignored Pepper for a good part of a minute, just staring blankly at her. Of course this confirmed to Pepper that he was indeed drunk.

Which he wasn’t, he’d only had one, although to be honest drinking himself into oblivion sounded pretty good to Tony at that point in time. With a scowl and a sigh Pepper took hold of Tony’s hands and placed them on her hips, a parody of the couple they had once been, and she led him over to the dancefloor like an unwilling marionette forced to dance across a stage.

“I don’t want you talking to anybody drunk, Tony, so you are going to dance with me until you have sobered up enough to make coherent conversation.” She snapped, mouth close to his ear so that no bystander would hear their conversation. To a fly on the wall their movements must have looked intimate, romantic even, what with Pepper leaning in so close to Tony. She was close enough to press a tender kiss to his forehead, or to peck his cheek the way she used to, but those days were far behind them.

“I’m fine, Pep, just tired. I don’t want to dance, please let me go. I haven’t slept in days, the last thing I want to do is exercise!”

“Well that’s your own stupid fault, isn’t’ it? This gala has been in the diary for months. You have no excuse, if you were that tired you should have stopped playing with your boy-toys and actually got some rest. I told you to be on top form tonight!”

“I’m sorry.” _I wish it was that easy._

Tony’s shoulders slumped as he allowed Pepper to guide him across the dancefloor, careful to take each step perfectly so as not to give the redhead further cause to assume he was drunk. The heat in the room had grown to a new height and Tony could feel the sweat pooling on his forehead. If he carried on like this it would wash away his makeup.

Tony wanted nothing more than to excuse himself and douse himself with cold water in the bathroom, but he couldn’t get his face wet. His make-up artist would be furious if he undid all of the hard work she had put into covering the dark bruises on his face with foundation, not to mention the thick layers of concealer that were applied under his eyes to conceal the heavy bags which seemed to have taken up permanent residence on his face. A mixture of Avengers missions and exhaustion really don’t do much for your beauty regime.

“Pep, please, I don’t feel good. I need to go.” Tony croaked, his throat as dry as the desert and…whoa, that was a bad analogy. Now he was panicking, images of the cave fluttering to the forefront of his mind. One moment Tony was in a gala full of people dancing, the next he was in a sweltering hot cave in the middle of bumfuck-Afghanistan.

_Tony flinched when he was thrown onto the floor, the sand and rock beneath him boiling hot from the sun’s rays beating down on it heavily for hours. He grunted in pain when his hands and knees hit the ground first, panic seizing him when the familiar sensation of burning shot through his hand. Although the scars from being in the lab as a child (and the resulting skin grafts) had healed years ago, the skin there was still more tender and sensitive than it had previously been. The heat made his heart clench for a terrifying moment but Tony mentally shook himself. He needed to get out of this situation, and fast. The only problem was that he was blindfolded and had no idea where he was. There was nobody around to save his ass this time._

_He could feel the sun burning his skin from overhead and assumed that his kidnappers, whoever they were, had reached the entrance to their secret location. By the sounds of things they were simply offloading Tony from the jeep he’d been carted into, and no doubt there was worse to come, but the scorching heat was suffocating and took up all of Tony’s concentration. The air felt thicker than usual and coupled with the usual fear that came with being kidnapped (trust him, Tony should know), the heat was too much to handle. Voices were screaming in his ears in a foreign language and Tony wished now more than ever that he had JARVIS with him to translate what they were saying._

_However, when he was hauled to his feet and pushed roughly forwards he got the general idea. They wanted him to walk. The problem was that he had been stripped down to just his loose boxer shorts, as his kidnappers had stripped him of everything up to and including his shoes to ensure that he wasn’t carrying any concealed weapons. Which, of course, he had been. But that was beside the point._

_“Wait, hold up. At least give a guy some shoes!” Tony sassed, gesturing towards his already blistering feet in a feeble attempt of getting some sympathy._

_His cheek earned him a sharp jab in the side with the butt of a gun, winding him and causing him to curl up over himself, struggling to breathe. The air was so hot it was stifling and Tony felt as though a firm hand was grasped around his throat, choking the life out of him._

_After over twenty minutes of walking across the burning hot floor, Tony’s feet were a mass of blisters and as soon as he was allowed to stop for a moment, the pain seemed to intensify. The movement had been distracting him somewhat, but now all that was occupying his mind was the agony shooting through his feet._

_One glance down was enough to judge how bad the damage was. His usually tanned skin was already burnt red, the skin peeling and sunburn-blisters appearing already._

_The heat was pounding down on him and it took all of Tony’s might to just carry on walking, blindly, down into the cave where the heat and tight spaces were even more intense than before._

_It was three months until Tony was able to breathe freely again, and ever since he had avoided the heat at all costs. The suggestion of a sauna or of lying on the beach were enough to send panic shivering down his spine, but it was fine. With air-conditioning in the tower and in his future suits, everything would be fine._

_Right?_

* * *

The next thing Tony knew he was lying on the floor, Rhodey and Pepper crouched over him with concerned expressions across their faces. Or, rather, Rhodey looked concerned and Pepper looked fucking furious. Her lips were drawn tight and her skin seemed more taught than usual. Tony could almost feel the anger radiating off of her.

“What the hell was that?” She snapped, barely giving Tony time to raise his head before launching herself into a tirade. “You just had to go and ruin everything that I worked so hard on, didn’t you! Weeks of planning! Weeks! And you go and put on a display like this! I had to send everybody home. Do you have any idea about how many deals you probably just ruined, and the PR. Jesus, if the papers get hold of this our shares are going to be a mess!”

Tony couldn’t think of anything to say, so he simply nodded weakly, drawing himself up and undoing his tie and top button, grateful for the fact that somebody (probably Rhodey) had been thoughtful enough to already remove his suit jacket.

“What the hell even was that? How drunk are you, you freaking passed out?!” Pepper sighed in defeat. Gods, how Tony wished that this was the first time that he had seen Pepper this disappointed in him, but it wasn’t. Not by a long shot. He’d let her down so many times that this look was far too familiar.

“I’m not. I just-it’s too hot. I couldn’t breathe!” Tony tried to explain, running a hand through his sweat slick hair and groaning. “I really don’t feel good. Please, I just want to go.”

“Sure. I’m not stopping you. You’ve already done enough damage, just go.”

“Pepper, be reasonable. I for one haven’t seen Tone drink all night, and smell his breath, go on, see, you can’t smell any alcohol, can you? I think he’s genuinely not well.” Rhodey said placatingly, helping Tony to sit up and steadying the younger man as he swayed slightly.

“Fine. Just go, Tony. Get some sleep, you’re no use to anyone like this.” Pepper said, her voice somewhat softer, although Tony didn’t catch her change of tone. He was too busy mulling over what she had said.

_You’re no use to anyone like this._

_You’re no use._

_You’re useless._

_You’re a waste of space._

That’s pretty much what Howard had said. Maybe his dad had been right? No, Howard had definitely been right. There was no questioning it.

_You’re pathetic._

_You’re never going to be a real man._

_For fuck sake Tony, can’t you do anything right?_

_I swear if I hadn’t had a paternity test done, I wouldn’t believe you are mine._

_You are so god damned stupid._

_You are a disgrace to the name of Stark!_

“TONY!” Tony snapped back to reality when he heard Rhodey calling his name sharply, only now registering that the older man had been shaking his shoulder firmly in order to gain his attention.

“Sorry. M’here.” Tony croaked, getting to his feet and leaning heavily against the wall. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired, maybe I’m coming down with something?” Tony whispered, the admission of feeling ill alone enough to make Rhodey extremely concerned.

“Tony, you’re shaking. Were you having flashbacks? You know I wouldn’t think any less of you, right? I’ve seen plenty of men suffering from PTSD, I understand that you’ve been through more than any man has the right to face.”

“I don’t have PTSD.” Tony snapped, striding out of the room purely to make the point that he could, and that he wasn’t an invalid. Although to be honest the action would probably have been far more convincing if his legs weren’t doing their best jelly impression. With an annoyed grunt Tony forced himself over to one of the now empty tables, poured himself a glass of water from the jug resting on it, downed the entire lot in just three gulps and made a call to Happy to pick him up.

Even the water had been lukewarm.

As soon as Tony got into the car he turned on the air-con, that prickly, too-hot feeling still creeping along his skin as he listened to Happy wittering on about a new Bugatti that was being released soon. He made a mental note to buy it for his friend for his birthday before closing his eyes, making it clear that he wasn’t in the mood to talk. He just wanted to be left alone, to strip off his uncomfortable suit and to get into the cool comfort of his own lab.

Hell, this was the man who had installed air-conditioning into his battle suit to ensure that he could remain cool, and he was reduced to a quivering mess by a stuffy room full of equally stuffy people. It was ridiculous, really.

* * *

“Hey Tony! You actually made it back for movie night!” Bruce said with a grin, clapping Tony on the back when he saw Tony emerge from his lab dressed in loose shorts and a thin tank top. Thankfully Tony didn’t have to conceal his reactor around the team, so he didn’t need to wear the thick, heavy light-proof undergarments that he was usually forced into.

Tony hadn’t had any intention of going to the team’s movie night, he’d simply been going to grab a coffee and the last thing he wanted to do was interact with other people, but the hopeful look in Bruce’s eye stopped the excuse which had been forming in his throat in its tracks.

“Yeah. Sure. I’ll be there in five.” Tony smiled, wishing for nothing more than a cool shower and the therapeutic, calming headspace that he could only access when tinkering with various machines and tools.

* * *

Tony walked into the communal lounge and sighed when he saw that Clint was perched on the armrest of his favourite armchair. The archer was like a frikkin bird, always perching on things and fluttering about rather than just settling down. Sure, Tony was hardly one to talk, but right now he just wanted to sit on his own. Now he was only left with the option of sitting on the sofa next to Natasha and Bruce. The former had her head resting in Bruce’s lap, a hot water bottle cradled close to her stomach as she snuggled deeper into the blanket that the scientist had wrapped around her. The assassin’s skin was paler than usual and she had a rare breakout of spots covering her chin. It must be her time of the month, Tony thought to himself, making a mental note to order in a shitload of ice cream and chocolate. Nobody wanted to deal with Nat when she was in a bad mood full stop, let alone when she was on her period as well. She was usually terrifying and lethal, but during her time of the month she was practically nuclear.

Tony felt a rush of guilt wash over him as he realised that he’d set the tower’s air-conditioning on high so that he’d be able to stomach entering the communal floors, but he reasoned with himself that it was his tower, so he should be able to control the thermostat. Right?

He curled up against the other arm of the armchair, as far away from Nat and Bruce as he could manage, with a spare seat in the middle of them, so as to avoid their body heat as much as humanly possible. Nobody raised an eyebrow at this, taking it as yet another example of Tony’s brazen antisocial behaviour and rudeness.

Fuck ‘em, Tony thought to himself. They could believe that if it helped them to sleep at night.

He turned his attention to the TV screen, groaning when he realised that the film was Bruce’s choice that week, no doubt meaning that it would be boring as hell. And yep, of course, there it was. ‘Hell and Back Again,’ an American-British-Afghan documentary film which according to the back of the box promised a brutally honest experience of war. Great. Just what Tony needed after his earlier flashbacks.

Just as Tony had fully managed to zone out and ignore the surround sound echoing shots through the room, and the images of the Afghan desert, he was made aware of the TV pausing.

“Stark, you’re going to have to turn off the air-conditioning. I’m freezing.” Nat whined. Actually whined. It would have been amusing under any other circumstance.

“Can’t you just use another blanket? I’ll go get one but I’m boiling!”

“You can’t possibly be boiling, Tony, the aircon is on full blast! You’re in a freaking vest, you’ve got to be having a laugh. I’m freezing my tits of! Have some compassion, can’t you see that I’m ill over here!” Nat snapped, curling up even more, grouchily, looking reminiscent of a sick, stroppy toddler.

“Well I am. Look, I’ll get you some blankets from your room, ok?”

“No, that’s not ok, the breeze is doing my head in. JARVIS, turn the air conditioning off.” Natasha ordered, silencing JARVIS’ feeble protest and relaxing back into Bruce’s lap when the cool breeze switched off.

“I swear, Tony, you’ve got to be the most self-centred man I know. Have some compassion.” Nat muttered before turning her attention back to the film, which she had resumed. Clint shot Tony a look that held the power to wither a plant, Tony was sure, and even Bruce avoided his eye.

Great.

Tony sighed as he felt the room immediately begin to heat up, but he did his best to ignore it and tune everything out, thinking of diagrams, statistics, graphs and blueprints.

* * *

When they were an hour into the film, a set of heavy footsteps announced the arrival of Thor. Apparently the god had decided to grace the team with his presence, after disappearing for a couple of months back to Asgard. “Fellow comrades of arms, it is my pleasure to be graced by your presence once more! And on the night of picture screening as well!” Thor practically boomed as he threw himself down onto the sofa, sandwiched between Tony and the bundle that was Nat and Bruce. His cape draped across Tony’s lap but the genius was so crammed in now that he could barely move his arm to remove it, so he sat there, pinned down like a display case butterfly willing the film to be over quickly. Claustrophobia was mounting deep inside him once more and as the screen in front of them displayed more pictures of war torn Afghanistan, all Tony could see were his own missiles piled high in a secret base. Suddenly there was an angry man screaming in his ear, ordering him to build weapons and Tony couldn’t practically feel the sand beneath his feet, slapping into his skin, an unforgiving and all-consuming sandstorm whipping around him.

He had to get out.

Without realising what he was doing Tony leapt to his feet, tearing Thor’s cape on the metal buckle of his belt as he staggered across the room a few paces. Thor let out a booming grunt of anger at the destruction of his favourite item of clothing and everyone in the room stared at him like children looking at a wild creature through glass at a zoo.

Panic seared through Tony and he found himself scrambling with his clothes, desperately pulling his suddenly too-tight tank top off and throwing it to the ground along with his shorts. But the room was still too hot and he couldn’t breathe and…

Tony barely registered the fact that he was falling before he hit the ground, leaving him with no time to brace himself. He landed awkwardly on his shoulder and swore under his breath as pain shot through his entire arm. The genius realised that he probably looked deranged, but the overwhelming need to be able to breathe and calm down was all-consuming and he found himself clawing at his throat as he began to hyperventilate.

Bruce, having seen Tony have a panic attack before, swept into action as the others stared in bewilderment at their flailing teammate, bemused expressions evident on all of their faces. The scientist knelt down next to his friend and placed a soothing hand on his back, rubbing between his shoulder blades in a repetitive fashion as he tried to talk his friend down from his anxiety attack.

“Tony, it’s alright. You’re safe, you’re in the tower. You’re not in Afghanistan. I’m sorry, that was a stupid choice of film, but I promise you it’s not real. You aren’t there. Look around you, see?” Tony tried to focus on Bruce’s calm voice but all he could do was moan weakly.

“Hot. Can’t breathe. Suffocating.” He managed to gasp out, each word punctuated by a strangled gasp for breath. He was being water boarded, the stifling heat of the desert contradicted by the ice cold water that surrounded him. What Bruce was saying couldn’t be right, because if this wasn’t real then how was he wet?!

Tony began to cry hysterically, wrapping his arms around his head and rocking, occasional moans of fright escaping him as he failed to keep it together. He was too tired and too broken to hold it in this time. Before he had remained defiant, back when he had something (someone) to fight for, but now Pepper was gone and he was nothing…nothing…nothing…

Clint stared in horror as Tony reacted like a terrified animal when he poured his cool glass of water over Tony’s back. The man had been crying out that he was too hot, so Clint though that cooling him down would be a good idea, but clearly not.

“Jesus Christ, Clint! The man was fucking waterboarded in Afghanistan and you think that throwing a glass of water over him when he’s having a flashback is a good idea?!” Bruce snarled, cradling Tony in his arms, increasingly concerned when the older man didn’t fight back against his grip. The genius was defeated. He’d given up and accepted his supposed defeat.

It was a heart-breaking sight for all of the Avengers to witness. None of them had realised the implications of making Tony turn off the air conditioning when he was clearly already agitated. But surely if he hadn’t been so pig-headed and had actually talked to them, none of this had happened? So it was clearly his own fault. Some genius, huh?!

Tony managed to curl into a tiny ball in Bruce’s arms, entire body trembling as he continued to gasp for air. He was vaguely aware of voices around him but he couldn’t make any sense of them – surely they were talking in some sort of Middle Eastern language. They were probably ordering him to build another Jericho missile.

“Won’t do it. I won’t. Just kill me. I’m not worth it. I won’t build it. Just let me die. Please just kill me, have mercy. Please!” Tony pleaded with thin air, tears and snot pouring down his face as he continued to rock from his spot on the ground.

“Tony, nobody wants you to build anything. You got out. You’re in New York, Tony, snap out of it, and look around you. Nobody here is going to hurt you.” Tony frowned in confusion. That was a woman’s voice, but no women ever came into ‘his’ cave, only men. Men brandishing knives and guns and…

“Tony, it’s ok. Look at me, I’m here.”

Tony forced himself to look up and listen to the voice. It was soft. Feminine. Cool, but not currently threatening. He knew that voice.

“Nat?”

“I’m here, you’re ok. I’ve got you.” Tony nodded weakly, taking in the room around him for the first time in around ten minutes. To his horror he realised that he’d cried in front of his whole team. Panicked. Made a fool of himself. And, Jesus, he was half naked. They could see the scars around his reactor. His hideous, ugly body. They’d be disgusted by him. And rightfully so.

Tony rolled onto all fours and panted weakly for a few moments before grabbing his top, shorts and staggering a few steps towards the door. He needed to get out. He could still feel their hands on him… the touch of Bruce’s hands on his body sending shivers down his spine.

"Tony!" Clint began, and Tony could hear the pity in his voice. And that, that was the straw that broke his back. Pity was the one thing he couldn't take right now and yet another tidal wave of shame washed over him. Grimly he began to make his way out of the room, pushing past his teammates without saying a single word, snarling at Clint when he stepped forwards to help, only to stand paralysed by Tony's glare.

The genius strode through the tower's corridors purposefully, pointedly ignoring JARVIS' enquiries about his health even as they grew increasingly concerned and frustrated. If AIs can even sound concerned.

No matter how many times he showered in cool water that night, he could still feel the echoes of past, unwanted touches. Their hands trailing over him against his will, pinning him down and suffocating him. The crawling under his skin didn’t leave him even as he began to tinker with machines in his lab for hours, and as he threw himself into a new project.

* * *

Nobody commented when Tony returned from a long walk around Central Park, and none of them mentioned the fact that they never asked JARVIS to turn off the air-con when Tony was on any of the communal floors.

However, when Tony next had to dress up in a suit and tie and was fiddling uncomfortably with the suit’s long sleeves, he spotted Natasha staring at him appraisingly. She was stood a few feet away from him, face blank, arms crossed, but for a moment Tony could have sworn that he saw a look of understanding cross her face just as he was turning away and walking out the door.

When he came back home that night he found a neatly wrapped parcel lying on his bed. Frowning in confusion he tore the brown paper off the present, confused by the two pillows that were wrapped inside. One glance at the pillow revealed that it was a Chillow, a brand of pillows designed to stay cool overnight with a cooling pad, so that it doesn’t get too hot. On one of the pillows was a taped-on yellow post-it-note signed:

_"Sorry for being a hormonal bitch!_

_Love,_

_Nat x_

_P.s. Thank you for the chocolate and ice cream, you are a lifesaver.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what to do :D I live for your feedback and your comments make my day - I promise to reply tomorrow morning to your existing comments <3


	5. The Truth Will Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the last chapter :D I've really enjoyed this fic and I hope that you have too! As always thank you for your lovely feedback <3 Warnings for past child abuse (see chapter 3 for more details).

As with all of these things, or at least things where Tony is involved, everything went to shit in spectacular fashion. There is a well know saying, that the truth will out, and once, just once, Tony really wished that that wasn’t the case. But when does he ever get what he wants? Basically never.

The day had started out fairly normal, well, as normal as a morning in a tower full of superheroes could be. Clint had spent the morning shooting things, Nat throwing knives at things (ok yeah, not normal), Bruce doing yoga (slightly more normal) and Tony working on a new repulsor for his suit (annnnnnd back to not normal again).

Everything had been fairly quiet for the past two weeks, with only three attempts by various supervillains to take over New York, and later the world. How they grew to be so deluded, Tony would never know, but hey, each to their own. At least none of them had put up a real fight – one attempt had literally taken the Avengers just fifteen minutes to thwart. To be honest Tony found himself wishing for a bit more of a challenge. Not that he wanted some dumbass to attack civilians or anything, but it would be nice to have a distraction from his day to day life. Tony always had liked a challenge. When you are flying a mechanised suit across Manhattan shooting things it’s pretty hard to simultaneously ponder your daddy issues. And mental health issues, not to mention his friendship issues and stress to boot…so yeah, basically Tony found himself wondering whether he had jinxed himself by wishing this when he and the rest of the team got their asses kidnapped.

It all started when they were sat around the dining table having a communal lunch, Bruce’s speciality five bean chilli burritos enough to draw even Tony out of his lab. And of course, after he’d managed just one bite of spicy goodness and guacamole, the tower’s alarm system went off, red lights flashing and alarm sounding to alert the Avengers that the city was under attack.

Seriously, one burrito, is that too much to ask?

“Villains really have no consideration for people’s lunch breaks these days,” Tony grumbled to himself as he set down his burrito and summoned his suit. Steve too looked rather miffed, his All-American smile faltering a little before his face set with resolve – he finished his burrito in just two massive bites before grabbing his shield and making a move, Clint and Natasha close behind listening to JARVIS informing them that an undercover bunker had been found beneath a nearby tower block containing multiple pieces of alien tech and what seemed to be a more advanced version of a DoomBot.

Tony groaned at this revelation, fisting his knuckles into his eyes in an attempt to wake himself up a little before his head plate snapped into place. Just once it would be nice if discoveries like these were made after he had managed to get a full night’s sleep. Which to be fair would be never – actually that sounds good.

“What’s the plan of action J?” Tony called to his AI as he and the team made their way over to the helipad. The tower block next to the one in question had a handy helipad, which would at least make their life somewhat easier. The joys of modern businesspeople and their overinflated egos persuading them that having their own helicopter to get to work was cool. Pretentious, but cool. Not that Tony could comment, considering the amount of yachts, speedboats, supercars and jets he owned.

“Your ETA is in ten minutes, sir. This should be a standard mission, Agent Fury has requested that you acquire the contraband through any means necessary, and with minimal ‘drama’.”

“Perfect, we’re on it. No drama. Wait, does that mean I can’t fly a victory lap around Central Park again?”

“Yes Sir, I believe that is the exact spectacle that Agent Fury wishes to avoid.”

“Right, a quick in and out job, I see how it is. Do me a favour, J, and tell Fury he needs to lighten up and get out more, a bit of spectacle might loosen him up a little.” Tony sassed.

* * *

After that, everything went to hell.

The ‘practically empty’ warehouse was not, as it turned out, practically empty. It was full to the brim of wannabe HYDRA agents, or the next generation of deranged psychopaths, and sadly for the team, they had the element of surprise.

Of course, they put up a good fight, as usual. Nat took out a good forty men by means of hand to hand combat and knife throwing before one of the schmucks stuck her with a strong sedative. Clint met the same unfortunate end as Nat, being taken out by a second sedative after shooting thirty-nine of their assailants (the fact that Nat had beaten him by one would not go un-mocked at a later date), Bruce was knocked out with a fire extinguisher before he had the chance to hulk-out and eventually just Steve and Tony were left.

Both men fought with all of their might, Tony firing repulsor after repulsor at their attackers and Steve launching his shield at them, but in the end Steve was stuck with a sedative too. And Christ knows what was in that syringe, because even the super soldier went down like a sack of bricks.

Which left Tony alone and surrounded by at least another hundred men and women. Where the hell they had come from even the genius couldn’t work out. Whatever this was, it wasn’t a small underground operation. And that would have been fine, if Tony was left to his own devices to blast them to hell and back, but the problem was that the rest of his team were compromised, a fact which their assailants were all too aware of. Tony watched in horror, still shooting, as four men moved in, each holding a gun to one of his respective team members’ heads.

Not good.

“Take one more move, Stark, and we shoot.” A voice boomed over the ruckus, seemingly unperturbed by the fact that tens of his men had been killed and/or immobilized. “And trust me, I am a man of my word.”

“Sorry, but I fail to believe that you lure us here purely to kill us. What would the point in that be? I take it that this was a ploy to get us here all along. You must have been here for months, this setup wasn’t put up overnight. You let our surveillance teams find you, right? ” Tony asked, lowering his arms to prove that he wasn’t about to put up a fight or do anything stupid at that point in time. Sure, if it was only his life on the line and he was the one with a gun to his head, he’d probably have blasted the shit out of everyone anyway. But he wasn’t. It was his team, and they deserved better than he would, if he was in that scenario.

“Maybe what they say about you being a genius is true.” The man snarled, tone mocking as he took a few more steps forwards. “Get out of the suit, or we shoot.”

“Sorry, no can do. See, the thing is that I’m rather attached to my suit, so I’d rather not leave it around for you lot to mess it up.” Tony desperately tried to keep his cool, but when all four men holding his teammates cocked their guns, he removed his faceplate and deactivated the suit, inhaling sharply as it unfolded around him, leaving him completely exposed. He had no armour now, no outer shell. He was merely a man standing vulnerable in front of hundreds of people, with rapidly running out options.

“Right. It seems that you’ve got me. So, what do you want? The sooner we get this over and done with the better.” Tony said, making a show of sounding fed up and unaffected by this turn of events. Although truthfully he was freaking out a little. Ok, a lot. “Because seriously, if it’s money, I’ll just give it to you. Although I can’t promise that SHIELD will leave you alone afterwards.”

“We don’t want your money, Stark. We want your weapons.”

“Seriously, don’t you guys watch the news? Did you miss the, like, six hundred broadcasts showing me stating that I will no longer be in the weapons manufacturing business. I had my eyes opened. I have more to offer this world than making things work up. I shut down the weapons manufacturing facilities. I had become part of a system that is comfortable with zero accountability. Y’know the spiel. I’m more into renewable, green energy and making the world a better place now. I’m sorry pals, but you’re a few years too late if you wanted me to build something for you…I mean really, have you been living under a rock. Actually wait, I guess you have. Well, concrete at least, but my point still-ahhh!” Tony shrieked in pain when his assailant raised his own gun and shot him straight in the foot. Christ that hurt. Tony groaned when he wondered how many surgeries the damage would take to be repaired. Just what he needed.

Falling to the ground with a loud thud, Tony did his best not to make a sound or give his attacker the satisfaction of showing that the wound hurt like a bitch.

“For someone who wants weapons,” Tony snarled through gritted teeth, “you sure are a crap shot.”

That earned him another gunshot to the thigh and the next thing Tony knew a syringe was being jammed into his neck.

Everything went black.

* * *

The next time Tony woke it was to find himself with his arms cuffed together behind his back, the cuffs too tight to slip even after he used the old trick of dislocating his thumbs. All this was achieved was yet more pain, adding to the myriad of agony lancing through his foot and the jarring ache that was spreading across his neck and thigh. His head felt heavy and it was near-impossible to open his eyes. To be truthful, when he finally did, the sight he was met with was not a desirable one.

Bruce was lying directly opposite him, still completely out of it, alongside Natasha who was twitching slightly as if she was having a nightmare, or was trying to wake herself back up again. Probably the latter considering how much of a fighter Nat is. Clint and Steve, however, were faring slightly better. That wasn’t really saying much though. Somewhere along the line it looked as though Clint had broken his arm, as he was supporting it with the other, a grimace crossing his face with every breath. Steve too was awake, seemingly unharmed apart from the confused frown crossing his face. It wasn’t every day that the super soldier was affected by anything as simple as a shot anymore, so what the hell had they stuck him with?

“Ah, Tony, nice to see you’ve decided to join the party.” Clint half grinned, half grimaced. “Fashionably late as ever.”

“Oh Tweety-pie, when will you realise that it’s impossible to be late to your own gig. The party don’t start till I walk in, to quote the icon that is Kesha.” Tony shuffled slightly in an attempt to shield his injured foot and leg from view. There was no need to make his teammates worry about him, and considering that they had all passed out before he was injured, he’d probably be able to get away with concealing his pain. It was one of his many skills.

“Right, whatever. Any bright ideas on how to get us out of this mess?”

“Currently no, you?”

“Nope.”

“Steve?”

“Not at the moment. I feel, I don’t know. Something feels wrong. My head is spinning, I feel like I did after you introduced me to tequila that time.” Steve croaked, paling at the mere memory of that ‘quiet night in’ that had been promised to him by his teammates. As it turns out, he could still get drunk after the serum, although it apparently took five litre bottles of tequila. His kidneys had never been the same since, Steve was sure.

Tony smirked at the memory, shifting a little to get into a comfier position. It looked like they were in it for the long haul, without his suit, but Fury would no doubt save their asses in an hour or two when he realised that they hadn’t reported back quickly from such a simple mission. However, this didn’t make the situation any less uncomfortable.

First things first, the room was getting decidedly warm. There was barely enough room in there for the Avengers. Tony was all too aware that Clint’s leg was brushing up against his lower calf, and that Steve’s shoulder was resting upon his own, but it wasn’t like he could do anything about it.

Sighing and trying to ignore the steadily rising heat, Tony closed his eyes and waited for everything to blow over. If only there was a pub with a pint and some peanuts on offer to keep him occupied.

* * *

Tony opened his eyes when he heard voices outside the metal door in their room, conveniently the only entrance and exit. Jesus, they were basically in a damned broom cupboard, he thought to himself, somewhat hysterically. If Bruce hulked out right now they’d all be crushed to smithereens, and that really didn’t sound like the kind of fun Tony could get behind.

The last thing they needed was for some idiots to come in, poke them around a bit and set the Other Guy lose.

Before Tony could ponder that possible future turn of events, the door swung outwards to reveal the lead-kidnapper, who Tony nicknamed Brows in his head to make life easier. The huge scar running across his right eyebrow and across half of the man’s cheek the inspiration. “I see you have all woken up. I wonder, has a few hours in here loosened up your tongue a little, Stark? The sooner I get what I want, the sooner I will let you go.”

“Right, like I’m supposed to believe that you will let me go once I’ve built your weapons. Yeah, sorry Scarface, but I’ve heard that one before, and it really doesn’t ring true this time. Besides, it’s quite pleasant in here, hanging around with my best buddies, having a slumber party,” Tony nodded towards Nat and Bruce, who were still out cold, “it’s quite refreshing to have a nice sit down, to be honest. Running multi-million dollar business, y’know, it’s stressful at times. We all need a break every now and again. Don’t suppose there’s any chance of a pornstar martini?”

Brows punched Tony across the jaw with all of his might and Tony cursed inwardly. Talk about anger issues, the guy clearly wasn’t in the mood for a bit of light-hearted banter. Straight to business. Right. That left Tony with significantly less time to come up with a plan to get them out of this mess. And Jesus that punch had really hurt – Tony could feel bruising coming up already. God knows how much makeup that was going to take to cover out for the press-release that was no doubt imminent once they’d got out of this fiasco.

“You would be wise to shut up, Stark. I heard you had a mouth on you, but I promise you that if you do not start taking me seriously, you are going to be reduced to drooling and drinking out of a straw. The only sounds you will be making will be cries for your daddy to rescue you.”

“Once again with you living under a rock, my dad’s dead, duh.” Tony snapped, earning himself another blow to the cheek. The impact sent his head flying back into the wall behind him and Tony had to blink a few times in order to clear the stars that were swimming in front of his vision. He could taste blood.

“Why all the hatred?” Tony asked, spitting a wad of blood onto the floor before continuing. “Didn’t your mummy love you enough? Did you miss out on breastfeeding and cuddles? C’mon, why don’t we just put all this anger aside and quit trying to set the world on fire, or whatever it is you are planning on doing? You won’t win, SHIELD will find us soon, so let’s do this the easy way. You let us out and I’ll make sure they don’t sentence you to life.”

“From where I’m standing,” Knuckles said with a lewd grin, “it seems that you are not the one with any bargaining material. Speaking of which, we need to know what materials and tools you will need to build us a suit.”

“If you hadn’t already noticed, you already have one of my suits.” Tony huffed, longing for his repulsors and jet boots.

“We need a different type of suit. This one must be suitable for deep sea travel.”

“Seriously? What do you want to do, swim with the dolphins? Find Nemo?” A headache was beginning to form behind Tony’s temple, dammit he was probably concussed, again, and he was so done with this kidnapping shit. In fact he had been completely done with it after the first five times, let alone after the sixty-fourth. Wait, no, was it sixty-five yet?

“We believe that there is an old safe deep in the ocean, filled with classified documents that we want to get our hands on. But the area is too deep for any submarine we can get our hands on. But anyway, why am I telling you this? It’s irrelevant. Just tell us what you need.”

“I need a hot redhead, a pot of lube, a few double vodkas and a penthouse suite, but sadly, judging by the state of this place, I won’t be able to get what I want. When was the last time you dusted this place, seriously?” Tony smirked in satisfaction when Brow’s jaw twitched in irritation. Stark was getting to him, riling him up, which although would make him angrier, would also make him more predictable and distracted.

Tony just hoped that Steve or Clint would think of a plan of attack whilst he kept stalling.

“What. Do. You. Need.”

“Bite me. Actually wait, you might be stupid enough to actually do that…” Brows snarled, fists clenched as he waited for his answer.

Of course, Tony didn’t give him one.

Reaching the end of his straw, Brows pulled Tony up by the neckline of his tank top and slammed Tony’s head into the wall, far harder than the last time, making Tony gag and cry out in pain. His head was spinning at what felt like a hundred miles an hour and Tony knew that he was in trouble. In the movies, this would be the moment that Steve would break free from his cuffs, but the still-weakened super soldier did no such thing, as sadly Tony’s life didn’t run like the usual fairy-tale. Sometimes the bad guy won, to an extent.

Before Tony could even try and brace himself, Brows began punching and kicking him as hard as he could, throwing Tony to the floor and only stopping when Tony was reduced to a panting mess on the floor. The genius could barely move, breathing heavily as he attempted to wriggle out of harm’s way, but the pain exploding through his body and the handcuffs were making it nigh on impossible.

He was vaguely aware of Steve’s angry shouts and Clint’s furious orders for Brows to stop, which didn’t make sense because why did they care? It wasn’t like they were getting hurt. It was only him, so it didn’t matter.

Another sharp kick to the ribs bought Tony out of his musings.

“So, have you changed your mind yet? Are you feeling a little more cooperative?”

“N-nope.” Tony hissed, eyes narrowed defiantly as he wriggled into a half sitting, half slouching position against the wall.

“Right. Well clearly a change in tactic is needed.”

* * *

Brows grabbed Natasha by her hair and in one sharp movement, snapped her thin wrist as if she were made of brittle plastic. Tony knew that he was strong, hell, he had the bruises to prove it, but seeing this amount of brutality being subjected onto his friend was horrific. Tony would take a beating every day of his life if it meant that nobody would be hurt because of him. Not after all of the innocent people who had lost their lives because of his weapons.

“I will continue to break your team apart until you do as I say.” Brows hissed, moving on to Clint’s hand, snapping his pointer, middle and little finger harshly and relishing in the knowledge that it was the archer’s dominant hand. This would render him useless for a few weeks to come.

And still Tony shook his head when he was ordered to build a suit.

He managed to keep it up even as he took another beating himself, followed by Nat being kicked hard in the stomach until tears were forced from her and Clint was barely conscious from being kicked in the windpipe.

They gave Bruce another shot to keep him under, clearly agreeing with Tony that having him Hulk-out was a bad idea.

However, when Brows rounded on Steve, intelligent, loyal, naïve, innocent Steve, Tony felt his resolve begin to falter. After half an hour of watching Steve being tortured (the super soldier stayed resolutely still and silent, of course), Tony gave in.

“Fine, I’ll do it.” He listed off a spiel of materials and tools, but afterwards he couldn’t’ resist the need to have just one more dig. It was a weak one, admittedly, but Tony’s sass and sarcasm weren’t exactly on top form, which is understandable, all things considered.

Despite this though, Tony seemed to push the man’s buttons. Who knew the guy would be so insecure about overcompensating jokes?

“I was definitely right to assume that you’d be a mouthy little shit, Stark. Thank goodness I took the liberty of buying this. Now that you’ve told me what I wanted to hear, I see no reason in letting you carry on talking.” Tony’s eyes widened in fright when he saw the ball gag being dangled in front of his nose, a fact which made Brows laugh right in his face. The man’s breath was rancid and Tony did his best to turn away, but moving his head just made the room spin once more, so he decided to suck it up and stay still. “This might shut you up for a while, and hey, considering your Playboy status, I imagine that you might even enjoy the experience. I bet you just love having your mouth used, you always like to keep it moving, don’t you? You’ll love this, being stuffed full, maybe I’ll have to fill you up with something else later. You’d enjoy that, right? You filthy faggot! Bet you’d love to suck my cock, to be my little slut. Then I’d show you that I am most certainly not overcompensating.”

Before Tony could so much as spit in the man’s face, Tony’s head was yanked back by his hair and the huge ball gag was shoved into his mouth, completely blocking it and forcing him to breathe through his nose. Immediately panic began to rush over Tony as that familiar sense of choking washed over him. Logically he knew that he could still breathe, but his breathing was harsh and ragged from pain, bordering on hyperventilation and he certainly wasn’t getting enough air. Humiliation coloured Tony’s cheeks but he didn’t fight as the gag was locked in place by a padlock. He didn’t want the man to know that he was getting to him.

Tony shook weakly as the door slammed shut, the loud noise making him jump despite the fact that he knew it was coming. Now that his attacker was gone, fear was beginning to encroach, although Tony did his best to keep it together. His team were in pain, he needed to stay strong. With pleading eyes he stared at Nat and Steve, awaiting confirmation that they were both ok.

“Jesus, Stark, what the hell were you playing at?!” Steve snapped, voice rough and dry – he’d refused to cry out throughout the whole ordeal, although the strain of doing so was now clear. “Why on earth did you tell them what you need? You should have just let them carry on, you know that I can take far more than that!” Tony wanted to beg to differ, he could see as well as the others how pale Steve had gone, and although Steve was doing his best to hide it, the slight tremor in his hands was a clear giveaway, indicating just how much pain he was in. Yes, Steve was a super soldier and he healed faster than others, but he still felt pain along with the rest of them. True, he had a higher tolerance, but still. Tony knew that he’d done the right thing. Or at least he had thought so, but judging by the glares from his peers, perhaps he was wrong.

“Do you have any idea what you have done, Stark? You’ve put hundreds of people’s lives in danger! If they get hold of a suit god knows what will happen. We have no idea what those documents are! Even if you refuse to build the thing yourself, with the right materials they may well work it out for themselves. Hell, they were smart enough to lure us here and create whatever that cocktail of drugs was! Innocent people could be killed because of you! Do you think of anyone but yourself? How could you be so stupid?! I don’t even know why I’m surprised, it’s clear from your past that you don’t care much for the sanctity of life!” Steve was beet-red now, anger coursing through his veins as he contemplated how much he wanted to punch something right about then.

Tony wanted to fight back, to defend himself, but he couldn’t get a sound out from behind his gag. And even if he could, he had no idea what he’d say anyway. He wanted to explain that he couldn’t carry on watching those he cared for be in pain, Pepper had been hurt in front of him, Rhodey on their various missions, Bruce, Nat and Clint had all been injured on his watch. Not Steve too. Tony couldn’t bare it anymore. Everybody around him either died or went through hell. There must be a connection. It was like Tony was a bad luck omen, bringing death, pain and despair with him everywhere he went. He truly was a merchant of death. And his parents. As a child he had watched his father’s guts oozing out onto their car bonnet, his mother’s blood pouring from her snapped neck. If it hadn’t been for Tony, they never would have died. His mother would never have let out that final heart-wrenching scream, the last sound that she ever made. The noise that haunted Tony’s dreams ever since he was seven years old.

Tony’s mind began to spin as the shouts from that night came flooding back to him, mixing in with Steve’s anger fuelled yells. He could hear his father’s shouts from the crash as clear as day, along with the various other screams that were all too often thrown at Tony.

_How could you be so stupid?_

Tony tried to whimper behind his gag, to plead with Steve to stop shouting, to let him calm down before he truly tipped over the edge, but his mouth was stuffed full, choking, suffocating and all he could do was try and stop the tears from slipping down his cheeks.

He needed to breathe.

It wasn’t that easy.

Tony closed his eyes tight against the tears, focusing on breathing, inhale, exhale, block out the shouts, inhale…

His mouth was so full.

He couldn’t breathe.

There was something wrapped around the back of his head.

His father’s hands laced around him, pulling him forwards, his mouth full of his father’s cock as he was violently thrust into and used as nothing more than a hole.

Everything was blurry.

He couldn’t see through his tears.

He was gagging.

Howard’s cock was hitting the back of his tonsils, he was being raped, violated, ruined…his innocence was gone. He was evil, tainted. Disgusting. Filth. Dangerous. Scum. A hazard to those around him. He was the bringer of death and pain…

_Unclean._

_Unclean._

_Unclean._

Tony gasped frantically, inhaling sharply through his nose as he desperately tried to gain any oxygen at all, but the world was spinning and he couldn’t focus. Thankfully the shouting had stopped, but now doubt it would resume again soon.

Tony was completely unaware of the fact that Steve was staring at him in horror, face drawn tight as he watched his teammate’s skin turn pale as he struggled to breathe.

“Tony? Stark? Jesus, Stark what’s going on?” Clint called, trying to rouse Tony from his panic attack. However, Tony would not be consoled. He was fighting frantically against his bonds now, trying to escape his cuffs with all of his dwindling power. Wriggling valiantly, Tony managed to scramble onto his knees, but he still couldn’t get away. The room was too small, there was no air…everything hurt.

Steve yelled something again, making Tony snap back to reality with a sharp jolt.

“Wha-?”

“Snap out of it, Stark!” The super soldier steamed, fed up to the back teeth of Tony’s melodrama. If it was sympathy that Tony wanted, he wasn’t going to get it. No doubt the man was acting to make them feel bad for him, to make them forget that he’d just endangered the whole of New York, if not the entire United States. Possibly even the world.

“Stop being so dramatic. We don’t have time for this, I need to think, and one of us has to get us out of this mess! Besides, it’s not like you aren’t used to this. I seem to recall that you love making me blush and squirm with your BDSM tales, I bet you do this all the time for fun. Just sit still so that I can come up with a plan.”

Tony shook his head frantically, desperate to show Steve that he didn’t like this. This was not sexy, pleasurable, or something easy to cope with. Handcuffs and rope, yes, this, no. He hadn’t even given a blowjob since…he was going to be sick. He needed someone to remove the gag, surely he was about to suffocate…

Get it off, get it off, get it off, please…

Tony’s eyes were wide and pleading, sweat trickling down his forehead as he renewed his struggles.

“Steve, stop, he isn’t faking.” Nat snapped, moving forwards, cradling her bad hand as best as she could through the hindrance of the cuffs. “Tony, can you hear me?”

Tony made no signs of having heard his friend, continuing to whimper and thrash even as she rested her head against his shoulder tenderly, the only way she could currently touch him and make contact considering their restraints.  
The genius didn’t seem to notice though, and he passed out after another five solid minutes of hyperventilating through his nose.

Nat didn’t even have the heart to yell at Steve, it seemed like the soldier had realised his mistake all by himself. He was wringing his hands in their restraints, face pale as the scale of his mistake dawned on him. Tony had been doing his best to protect his teammates. That’s what friends are meant to do – look out for each other and have each other’s back.

Clearly Steve was the worst friend in the world.

* * *

 

Tony stirred a short while later, the scent of sweat, blood and earl grey tea assaulting his nostrils as he sat himself up. The room was spinning violently and everything hurt. Someone must have bought them a drink to keep them alive…and of course it was tea.

The true extent of his bruising became evident as he tried to move and once again he was reminded of the gag in his mouth. He let out a frightened moan around his gag, the tiniest noise slipping through the side of it as he took stock of the situation.

Nothing had changed. Clearly the team hadn’t come up with anything in the duration of his unconsciousness.

“Tony? Are you with us? Thank god!” Steve was the first to talk, seemingly forgetting that Tony had no way of responding. Once again the presence of the gag made Tony panic and he found himself freezing in fear like a startled deer. Steve continued trying to get through to him, but Tony was far too preoccupied by the searing pain in his foot, leg and the stifling heat of the tiny room they were confined to.

He had to get out.

Tears poured down Tony’s cheeks as he forced himself to his feet, pure terror enough to spur his movements on. The genius threw himself against the metal door with all of his might, desperately trying to shift the door open despite knowing that it was no use.

Steve, deciding that all of this had gone too far, finally managed to focus his own mind. He had an amazing ability of switching to calm mode when everybody else freaked out around him. It was a fight or flight instinct – his body knew when it had to step up.

After a few furious minutes of straining his arms against their bonds, Steve managed to snap the handcuffs clean in half, all thoughts of drugs and grogginess long gone. Within moments he crossed over to Tony, taking hold of the genius’ arms and startling at the manic, wild look in the older man’s eyes. It took a while to pin Tony’s body down enough to work the gag free, but eventually he snapped the padlock securing it in place off, throwing the disgusting object to the ground in distaste.

Tony started babbling and begging as soon as his mouth was free, retching violently against the imaginary taste of semen as he fell to his knees cowering. He didn’t even notice when Steve managed to pick Tony’s handcuffs.

“Daddy, stop! Please stop! Howard? H-Howard please?” Tony’s voice wavered frantically, his entire body trembling with fear as he shuddered and continued to vomit. “Please Howard, stop, I don’t like this game. I don’t like it. I want to stop. I don’t want to play anymore. Dad, please?”

Steve stared in shock as Tony sobbed and pleaded with his late father, knowing that the man in front of him wasn’t seeing what the rest of them were. He was stuck somewhere in the past, unable to escape. The soldier himself nearly vomited when he realised what this meant. What Tony had just revealed about his past, inadvertently. Howard had abused him. God.

“Daddy? I’m sorry Daddy, please just stop. I don’t like it. I can’t breathe. It tastes bad!” Tony was sobbing now, clutching at his throat in desperation as he curled up into a tiny ball and rocked.

Nat and Clint looked away, tears streaming down their respective faces as they watched Tony fall apart before their eyes, knowing that there was nothing they could do about it.

After half an hour Tony seemed to calm, body shuddering and breaths hitching as he finally tuned into Steve’s words. The soldier was trying to comfort him, speaking in a calm, low voice, telling him that Howard was gone and would never hurt him again.

But that wasn’t true.

Because Howard did still hurt him, late at night, in the dark, whenever Tony closed his eyes.

Pride long since forgotten, Tony buried his face in Steve’s chest as the blond pulled him into his chest, simply allowing himself to relax into his strong grip and surrendering himself to the soldier. He wasn’t strong enough to fight anymore. He was done with being strong. Tony just wanted to sleep.

The team knew. They’d found out about him, about his past. They’d never look at him the same way again. His life was over. He might as well accept it now. Denial isn’t healthy, or so his ex-psychiatrist said.

“Tony? Talk to me?” Steve whispered, stroking a hand through Tony’s hair as the genius sniffled.

“There’s nothing to say.” Tony whispered, voice hesitant as he looked up at Steve with tear-filled eyes. Their chocolate brown shade intense as they stared up into pools of blue.

“I think there is. Tony, we’ve been awful to you-all of this. What we accused you of, all those times we thought you were just an ass, you’re an assault victim, Jesus, this explains everything. Why didn’t you tell us? We’d have understood, been able to help you!”

“I’m not a victim.” Tony hissed. “I’m a survivor. I’m not weak or broken, crushed by circumstances. My past is none of your business, Rogers.”

“Tony, that’s not what I meant. Just-being handed things? Is that something to do with Howard?” Steve flinched as the name slipped past his lips, as though it was dirty and bitter. “Did he hurt you too? Not just, y’know, sexually?”

“It’s none of your business.” Tony’s tone was admission enough.

“I’m so sorry.”

Everything was clicking into place.

“And the heat thing? That's a phobia, isn't it, not just you being spiteful?" Nat piped up, once again making her way to Tony’s side as he nodded. There was no point denying it.

“I’m so sorry.”

Tony simply nodded, still shaking as he watched Steve release the others from their confines. It wasn’t as if they could get out, but at least now they were somewhat less constricted. That alone made Tony feel slightly better, although to be honest being trapped in a room full of sympathetic, pitying Avengers was hardly ideal.

Without a word Nat wrapped her newly freed arms around Tony, blocking out the agony shooting through her wrist as she clung to him, her warm embrace taking the place of a thousand words and apologies. Because nothing she could ever say would be enough.

How had she never realised?

She was a spy, highly trained to look out for signs, to understand people’s psyches and to read them. But then again, Tony had always worn one hell of a mask, apparently. It was all so obvious now. The shying away from human contact, his intense hatred of things that made him feel like he couldn’t’ breathe – extreme heat, collars, tight top buttons and ties…no wonder the gag had set him off so badly.

Tony had been raped.

Clint, Bruce and Steve joined Nat in holding Tony, supporting the genius for the first time since they’d known him. Acting like the team they were meant to be.  
They stayed wrapped in each other’s embraces, whispering quiet yet heartfelt apologies into his ear until eventually a faraway explosion announced the presence of SHIELD. It seemed as though Fury had finally realised that something was up.

Soon they were freed, nobody commenting on the stench of sick and the tear tracks still visible on Tony’s face. The whole ordeal had only lasted four hours, yet in that short space of time, everything had changed irreversibly.

* * *

“Tony, can we talk?” Steve entered Tony’s room with a cafetiere full of coffee in hand, a peace offering as he approached the genius. He’d eventually managed to talk JARVIS into letting him in, even the AI realising that Tony locking himself away was counterproductive.

Stark had been shut up in his lab for the best part of three days since the ordeal that was their last mission and nobody had been able to get through to him. As soon as he’d gotten home he’d strode straight into the closest elevator and had disappeared into it. Of course they had all tried, Nat crying at his door about the thermostat thing, promising to never turn the aircon off again, and Clint apologising for being an all-round general dick. He too had cried, but nobody was there to notice as Tony didn’t even acknowledge the fact that he was outside the door. Bruce had spent the best part of a day sat outside Tony’s lab in silence, merely offering companionship. He wanted Tony to know that he was there for him, prepared to stand by his side no matter what.

“Will you listen to me if I say no?”

“Nope. I’ve learnt a lot about being a stubborn jackass from somebody I know.” Steve said with a soft smile. Tony returned it tentatively.

“Well go on then, let’s get this over and done with. I’m not exactly one for touchy-feely emotions and crap.”

“I just wanted to know more, about everything, so that I can help you. If you don’t open up to us we will never be able to help, the last thing any of us want to do is upset you, especially in your own home. If we know your triggers we will be able to avoid them, and hell, we sure have a lot of making up to do as a team. We really are sorry.” Steve said, slouching down onto one of Tony’s hard-backed chairs, looking smaller than he had any right to as he admitted his failings. “I mean, I understand about the heat, and the being handed objects thing – Bruce filled me in a bit, about the hot tool, but why the aversion to tea? And the birthday thing?”

“I was there, when my parents died. I watched it happen, I was in the car crash.” Tony whispered, the words spilling out before he could contain them. “We crashed because I needed the toilet. I’d drunk too much tea.”

“Tony, that wasn’t your fault. I read the reports, your father was drunk driving, Tony. And besides, his life was hardly a loss, after what he did to you-” Steve tailed off, watching as Tony poured himself a mug of coffee to buy himself some time and regain composure.

“He was still my dad.” Tony whispered. “Besides, think of it as karma for all the awful things I have do-”

Steve cut Tony off, pressing a hand over his mouth gently and guiding the genius into his chest once more. “Don’t ever say that, Tony. You didn’t deserve this. Nobody does. Nobody. You are a great man, Stark, probably the strongest I know. I’m sorry that I never saw that before. But I promise you that I’m here now, I will never let anybody hurt you again.” Steve pressed a gentle kiss to Tony’s forehead before drawing away.

“I’m so sorry for what I said about the playboy thing as well, it was totally uncalled for.”

“No problem. I know you didn’t mean anything by it. And to answer your question, the Howard thing, well, it happened on his birthday. I never found out what it had all meant until my own birthday a few years later. I don’t know, I just can’t deal with the anniversaries of those days – I guess I never really got over it. That unclean feeling, the sense of dread and fear. Not to mention the self-loathing and constant what-could-have-beens running through my head at night.”

“Tony, you aren’t unclean. You are strong, intelligent and brave. I know you can’t see it, but the rest of us can. You’re literally a lifesaver, a hero. Is there anything else we should know, to make your life easier?”

“I’ not fond of the dark, I guess. Although that I can deal with. Otherwise, just the usual things, spiders, rats, y’know. Thank you for asking, but if you don’t mind, I’d kind of like to get on with things now.”

Steve nodded, accepting the fact that Tony was probably done with the over-sharing thing. He knew that Stark hated to be vulnerable – that played a huge part in the design of his suits, after all.

“Of course, I’m cooking tacos tonight if you fancy joining though, the team would love to see you.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Awesome. Oh, and Tony?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re safe now, I promise.” Steve said as he walked out of the room, Tony smiling as he realised that he didn’t have to face things alone from now on.

And although Steve’s statement about him being safe may not have been entirely true (Steve could never truly protect Tony from everything, not when most of Tony’s demons were internal), with the newfound support of his team, Tony knew that things would be easier from now on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what to do :3 <3

**Author's Note:**

> So, please let me know what you thought :D Comments make the world go round and all that and kudos mean the world to me (I need to get out more). But yeah, I'd love to hear what you all think so far :) Updates should be every few days :)


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